


I Saw You Standing There

by missberryisbest



Series: Indie Rock Sex Gods [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, Gen, M/M, queliot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18434960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missberryisbest/pseuds/missberryisbest
Summary: AU where Eliot is a musician (think indie rock) and Quentin comes to one of his gigs. And then another. And another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to listen to the music I put with this AU, it is all in this playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLu1DeF0p1_m_p_l4wPAutIZ3FZxVH9t3G  
> But also, feel free to just decide for yourself what the beats of the band are!!!

Eliot was tired. In fact, he couldn’t remember another time he had been quite this tired. Not of the music, but of the people. That was the thing about playing these gigs, there were always too many people. All so close. All so…. Smelly. Stale beer mixed with sweat when there are not many windows is never a good thing. With a sigh he focused back in on the music - losing himself in lyrics like he’d been doing since he was 15. 

Scanning the room, trying to avoid the faces of the fans without looking like he was avoiding them, he glanced at the bar and...

Oh,  _ hello  _ there

He saw someone, someone who was different.

And by different, he meant this boy looked so out of place it would have been laughable if he wasn’t so damn cute. Nursing a beer and wearing, dear god, was that a  _ knit sweater? _ In a biker bar?? His eyes were shut and his head leaned back, framing his gorgeous fuckin’ face in the neon lights. It made his brown hair look tinged with blue and purple, and Eliot thought for a moment that he might actually be hallucinating. What was a nerd in a sweater with a damn IPA doing at a concert like this? 

No matter why he was there, tho, Eliot was determined to get his attention. Smiling, he put some extra flair into the next number, swaying his hips in time with the music, running his fingers through his curls gracefully to get them out of his heavily lined eyes, growling out the low notes with everything he had… but no matter what he did, even though the rest of the crowd went wild, that kid would not open his damn eyes.

“Hey, you. At the bar. Sweater dude.” Eliot heard himself say into the mic, his band disjointedly stopping in the middle of their song.

The stranger opened his eyes, looking around confusedly. Blinking, like he wasn’t sure why the music wasn’t still playing.

“Sweater dude, with the light beer and the converse” Eliot shouted, gesturing towards where the man was sitting, trying to better single out the kid whose attention he wanted so badly.

The man looked around, as if he thought he was going to see someone else in this place of leather and metal wearing fucking high tops and a blue knit sweater. When he found no one, he looked at El, sending a thrill through Eliot’s core, and gestured at himself. Mouthing the word, El could almost hear him say “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Eliot affirmed. By now the entire bar was looking at this guy, and clearly this made him uncomfortable, causing Eliot to feel a pang of regret that he quickly tamped down and covered with determination. Men and women across the place that had been trying in vain to catch El’s eye all night were shooting the kid looks that could have scorched the earth. One couple, who had been sending him very “we are open to fun” vibes started huffing and walked out. Eliot didn’t care, even though earlier in the night he had noted them down as the top possibility for distraction after the show. 

“What’s your name?” El asked, maintaining eye contact even as his bandmates started loudly clearing their throats behind him.

The guy mouthed something, and Eliot did his best to guess, but after throwing names at him left and right as the man got redder and redder, constantly shaking his head no, Eliot was getting crabby. “Okay, what’s the first fucking letter, at least?” He asked, and the kid smiled, which Eliot felt all the way down his body. 

“Q” he mouthed, making the shape of the letter with his hands.

“Q?” El asked, and the kid nodded, scuffing the floor with one shoe.

“Well then. Come closer, Q, if you please.” Eliot directed, with an impatient wave “I can’t hear a word you are saying and I really fucking want to talk to you.” 

The kid stood up, his face all red and adorable, and Eliot’s heart started racing, but then, to his dismay, rather than approaching the stage through the path the crowd was slowly opening up, this guy slapped some money down on the bar and booked ass out of there.

“Well, I’ll be damned” Eliot said, “I guess he really didn’t want to talk to me.” 

Realizing that, _shit_ , yeah, he was on stage and getting paid and this was a gig, he laughed it off. He turned to his bandmates, Kady scowling on the drums and Alice just blinking at him in confusion while holding her guitar. “From the top now, dears” he purred, and twirling back to face the room, he launched back into his song. 

He finished the set in a daze, glancing around the room without really seeing anyone, eyes drifting over all that leather and metal, searching for a blue knit sweater. 

_ Q _ , he thought.  _ What the fuck kind of a name starts with Q? _


	2. Chapter 2

Julia had been woken up from a sound sleep about forty minutes ago to loud and repeated knocking on her bedroom door. Opening one eye to check the clock,  _ two in the fucking morning?! What the hell, Q, _ she thought as she sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, listening to the sound of Quentin muttering in the hall. Hopping into her pajama pants she opened the door only for him to grab her wrist and drag her to their living room where he sat her down on the couch, handed her a partially-drunk bottle of wine with a muttered “you’re gonna need it” and launched into a tirade that was still going strong.

“And then I fucking ran away, Julia. I RAN AWAY FROM THE INDIE ROCK SEX GOD WHO WAS TALKING TO ME” Quentin was frantically explaining the situation while pacing the length of their second-hand rug and gesturing wildly. 

“Yes, Q, I heard you…. The first twelve times” Julia replied with a little smile, taking a nice gulp of wine straight from the bottle.

“Eliot FUCKING Waugh was TALKING TO ME, Julia” Q said, stopping in front of her and stabbing his finger into his chest repeatedly, as though she was just not understanding a key point. “TO ME.” 

“Yes he was, if you are to be believed.” She teased. Finally, Q stopped pacing and just dropped to the couch next to her, hand stuck out in a silent plea for his turn with the bottle.

“I didn’t even notice, not at first. Like, I was so caught up in the music.”

“Trust me,” Julia said wryly, “as your best friend and long-time room mate I am intimately familiar with just how much you like that music. And how loud”

Quentin smiled sheepishly “Their band is just so good, I can’t help it.”

Julia laughed, “you know I don’t mind, their music isn’t half-bad, even if it is a little too metaphoric for my taste.”

“You’d like the drummer” Q mused, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, she is totally your type. Badass style, lungs of an angel, and she has this whole I-can-fuck-you-until-you-can’t-see-straight vibe going on.” 

“That does sound like my type” she said “but hopefully without the tinge of crazy that my last girlfriend had.”

“Dude” Q said, starting to slightly slur his words thanks to the wine, “no one will ever be the same type or level of crazy as Marina.”

“Hmm, this is true” Julia said, looking at Q, tapping her chin with a finger.

They say in comfortable silence for a bit, passing the bottle back and forth. Eventually Jules cleared her throat.

“So,” she said, “back to the main point- I think I know what we are going to do.”

“What do you mean what we are going to do? We aren’t going to do ANYTHING except drink the rest of this wine, go to bed, and pretend this never happened.” Q panic rambled, recognizing the look in her eye. 

“Oh no, Q” Julia said, determined, turning on the couch and facing him directly. “That is exactly what we are  _ not  _ going to do. Tell me honestly - do you want to pretend this didn’t happen? Pretend that the, how did you put it, Indie Rock Sex God didn’t single you out and want to talk to you in the middle of his goddamn set?”

“Well… I mean, I guess… No. No, I don’t.” Quentin admitted. “I don’t know what I want to do, maybe just like, cherish the memory close to my heart for the rest of my days?”

“Or,” Julia said, tapping away on her phone “alternatively - we go to their coffee house show next weekend. That still has tickets for sale.” With a final click she set the phone down again firmly “Especially since I just bought us two tickets. And we see if maybe Eliot FUCKING Waugh notices you again. And I’m there, to keep you from running this time.”

“Jesus, Jules” Quentin groaned, “why did you go and do that? Now I have to say yes, and you know it.”

“Well, it is the least you can do, since you woke me up from a well-deserved night of rest.” She teased, yawning and getting up from the couch. “Speaking of which, I’m going back to bed if you are good.” She paused, looking at him seriously, checking for any of the visual warning signs that Q was not in a good headspace “Are you good, Q?” she asked, softly.

“Yes, Jules, I’m fine” he said in reply, just as soft. As she left the room he called down the hall after her “And hey, maybe if Indie Rock Sex God DOES notice me again, I can introduce you to his drummer Kady and we can both have our Indie Rock Sex God fantasies realized!”

Julia’s laugh floated back to him “Go to bed, Q, we will strategize more in the morning.”

But Quentin wasn’t ready to go to bed quite yet. He realized that he had been hoping Julia would come up with a plan, that’s why he went and woke her up when he was only part way through the bottle of wine. Because he knew, deep down, that he did want to see Eliot again. To see if this had been a fluke, or if the man who wrote the music that gave his life meaning really did want to talk to him.

Going to his room he got undressed to his boxers and laid in bed, the wine buzzing pleasantly through his head. “Eliot FUCKING Waugh was talking to me” he whispered to his ceiling before drifting off, a smile on his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Eliot woke to his curtains being thrown wide open and his Margo muttering angrily as she pulled the blankets off of the bed and threw a pillow at his crotch with the ease gained by lots of practice. “Bambi….” He murmured sleepily, smiling and stretching out, absolutely unashamed of being mostly naked in front of his band manager/best friend forever.

“Don’t you fucking  _ Bambi _ me, Eliot Waugh, I swear to god you will be the fucking death of me” Margo said, plopping on the bed next to him “fucking stopping your show in the middle of a set to TALK TO A BOY??! You know how many strings I had to pull for a gig there? Then you go and cock it all up. I doubt I’ll ever be able to book us there again, and it was The fuckin’ Roadhouse, Eliot.” 

Eliot had the good sense to look chagrined, wincing as he sat up and reached for his pants, folded nicely on the chair next to the bed. “I know,” he admitted, “and I’m sorry. But it is way too early and I am way too sober for this conversation” 

“Eliot,” Margo said, seriously “it is three in the fucking afternoon. Drink this coffee” she shoved it into his hands, “put on some pants, and meet me on the porch in five minutes.”

Knowing her tone of voice, El was quick to listen. Downing the coffee (after adding a healthy shot of Bailey’s) he went out to the porch where Margo was waiting with a pipe of something.

Lounging against her, she lit up the bowl for him and after he took a few hits she went “Well? Explain.”

Eliot breathed out the smoke with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know how to say it, exactly. I just, I was singing, and this kid was there, he was at The Roadhouse, sitting at the bar wearing a fucking blue  _ cable knit sweater _ , Bambi.”

Margo snorted, “that must have stuck out like a sore dick” she admitted. “I don’t think I can even imagine it.”

“Exactly!” El exclaimed, “he was just… sitting there all cute and adorable, but his eyes were closed. And I don’t know, I really wanted him to look at me. And he wouldn’t. Nothing I did, and I swear I put on a show, would get him to open his eyes. So” pausing, El took another drag “I kinda lost it” he admitted.

“Hmm,” Margo growled “there’s no kinda about it. You were an idiot.” 

“I just wanted to know why he wasn’t watching the show! Tickets there aren’t cheap. But all I got out of him before he bolted was that the first letter of his name is Q.” El said.

“Q?” Margo asked, scrunching her nose, “what the fuck kind of a name starts with a Q?”

“THAT’S WHAT I SAID” Eliot exclaimed, gesturing wildly.

Picking up her phone from the deck table Margo started scrolling. A few minutes later she finally seemed to relax a bit. “Thankfully, Twitter seems to be finding it funny” she said. “and #SweaterDudeQ is in most of the pictures and posts from the show last night.”

Eliot’s heart started beating faster “Pictures?” he forced himself to ask calmly.

“Jesus, El,” Margo laughed “you’re telling me you found this dude to be so cute you fucked up your first show at The Roadhouse, and you didn’t even go online to see if someone snapped a pic?”

Eliot had never sat up so fast, snatching Margo’s phone away from her teasing grasp, he scrolled through his band’s twitter hashtag feverishly, not even really seeing the pics his fans had taken of him. Soon he lucked out, seeing that wavy brown hair highlighted with neon lights and the blue sweater. Smiling, he tapped on the pic and zoomed in. The candid had been snapped right when Eliot had asked for the first letter of his name, Q was smiling shyly, hands raised, about to shape out a Q. Eliot took a screenshot right there, before finally paying attention to the actual tweet that went with the pic. 

_ <@eliotfknwaugh - loved the show last night! By the way, I was close enough to hear. The kid said his name was Quentin.> _

“Quentin” Eliot said slowly, tasting each syllable. “Quen-tin.” Smiling he zoomed in on the photo again, trying to make out his eye color, but just like his hair, Q’s eyes were tinted with the blue and purple neon glow.

“I guess that’s what the fuck kind of name starts with Q,” Margo said, happy to solve the mystery. Taking her phone back she patted El reassuringly “You know the fucker’s first name, now. So you can calm your shit.” She made a show of looking at the pic before saying “So this is him. Hmm… He’s not _ that  _ cute.”


	4. Chapter 4

Quentin could not fucking decide what to wear. His room was a complete disaster, as though a tornado had targeted his closet and dresser specifically before moving onto the next hapless victim.  _ What does one wear when trying to get the attention of an Indie Rock Sex God?  _ He thought, trying on about 15 different combinations of clothing before just giving up and running to get Julia. 

Twenty minutes later he was more formal looking than he could remember being in recent history, like, even his fucking shoes were shiny. And his hair was slicked back.  _ But maybe this is good, _ he thought, before shaking his head and changing into jeans, a plaid button up, his scruffy boots and, running a hand through his hair, he roughed up the combed look, leaving it a little messy. 

Looking in the mirror, he smiled.  _ Now I look like a me _ , he thought.

He sheepishly came out of his room to see Julia sitting at the kitchen island with some tea, wearing a killer outfit and her makeup done to perfection. Upon seeing him, Jules laughed. “I knew all I had to do was dress you the way you wouldn’t like and you would pick the perfect outfit. Sometimes, Q, you are just too much all up in your own head.”

“No fair, Jules” Quentin complained. 

“Hey, I’ve known you since before you had braces, pipsqueak,” she reminded him “I’ve picked up on a thing or two.” Grabbing her keys and a coat, Julia checked herself out in the hall mirror. High waisted leggings, a drapey top, eyeshadow and liner on point, her curls loose and casual. “Damn, I look good. You do too,” she added, with a smile. “Shall we go?”

Suddenly Quentin’s entire mouth went dry and he reached over and grabbed Julia’s tea, knocking the rest of it back. “Dear god, that is awful” he sputtered. “What is in there? Fuckin’ grass clippings and dog hair?” 

“Close,” she laughed, “it’s echinacea. My grandma sent me some because she felt like I was going to be coming down with a cold soon. And we both know that we should listen to her gut feelings.”

Fumbling through their junk drawer looking for a mint, Quentin nodded. “That woman took one look at me and knew more than my parents picked up in 12 years” he agreed. With a relieved sigh, he found a mint, and, popping it in his mouth he turned to face Julia. Taking a deep breath and a quick glance in the mirror himself, (to make sure he passed inspection) he straightened his shoulders - “okay” he said “let’s do this thing.”

\--

Eliot applied his liner in the side room, going a bit easier tonight to match the vibe of the event. “I love when we get to do coffee house gigs” he sighed dreamily to Kady as she put the finishing touches on the metallic accents in her half-braided hair.

“Me too” she said. “It reminds me of where we started. And the smell of coffee is a hell of a lot nicer than stale beer.”

Alice laughed from where she was sitting, “isn’t that the truth.”

“So,” Kady said, leaning forward. “Should Alice and I be prepared for you to stop the set in the middle of the song as you try to find out the name of a cute boy?” Her tone was a mixture of teasing and warning, and Eliot responded appropriately.

“Like I said at practice, my dear, I know his name now, so I won’t have to find it out.” At the look in her eye he made sure to hastily add “and of course it was very rude of me to do, and I will never repeat it again ever.”

Alice snorted “I mean, before Margo got her head out of her ass and started dating me, there were a few people in the crowd I didn’t mind asking the names of. But, you know, that is the whole point of being  _ in the fucking band _ . So that  _ after the show _ you can go hit on and get to know incredibly hot people.” She got up to make a coffee, as always, adding so much sugar Eliot was surprised she didn’t have like, a million cavities. 

“But there are no guarantees in this life, Alice,” he pointed out “and cute nerds in sweaters at biker bars may not be the type to stick around long enough after the show for me to demonstrate my seductive talents.”

Kady sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Well, just don’t fuck up this show like you did last weekend, okay?”

Margo came in, looking grand and royal as always, making a beeline straight for Alice, very deftly setting her coffee aside and pulling the blonde in for a lingering kiss. This was their ritual, often Margo couldn’t stay for the whole gig since managing the band was not her full-time job, but she made sure to be there for every local show for long enough to kiss her girlfriend. Thoroughly. So thoroughly Alice had learned that trying to put on lipstick before the kiss was just a waste of time. 

Breaking away breathing a bit more heavily, Margo announced “it is almost time, my friends! Alice, be ravishingly gorgeous and use those delectable fingers to make your guitar sing as loud as I was last night. Kady, make everyone want to fuck you while also fearing you, and please don’t punch anyone after the show unless they are really asking for it. Eliot,” here she shot him a warning glance, “I don’t care how many cute boys you see in this audience, if you interrupt the set again I will cut your dick off and won’t even be nice enough to prep you before I shove it up your ass.” With those parting remarks she left to be sure everything was set up properly, blowing a kiss back at them as she walked away.

Alice did her lipstick, Kady did her two shots of whiskey, Eliot smoked his last blunt, and it was time. “Well, team, let’s do this thing!” Eliot said, secretly hoping that even though it was very unlikely, his nerd would show up and Eliot would get a chance to speak to him properly.  _ My nerd,  _ he thought wryly.  _ Not that I’m at all overinvested in this shit.  _ Shaking his head and walking onto the set, he scanned the crowd. Then he smiled.

There, sitting at one of the intimate tables scattered across the room, was Quentin…

But very quickly his smile became a frown.

Sitting across from  _ his nerd, goddamnit, _ was a divinely gorgeous lady who had her hand on his arm and her head thrown back as she laughed. This did things to Eliot's stomach he was not happy about. 

But then, Quentin turned, looked at him up on the stage. Yes, fucking _looked at him_ thank God. And smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Quentin was entranced. There was no other word for it. When he was at the concert last weekend he had felt the same way in the beginning, it had seemed impossible to lose himself completely in the music as he liked to do with this band because Eliot FUCKING Waugh was  _ right there. _ He had treated himself to the concert ticket, picking the bigger venue on purpose for anonymity and acoustics, even though it cost more than the smaller gigs. That’s why he had ended up closing his eyes - it was the only way to truly let go and just  _ become _ the music and the lyrics. But this time? He didn’t have a chance in hell. 

The gig was a lot smaller this week, far more… intimate. And when Eliot had walked out, Q saw him scan the room until their eyes locked, and when that happened Quentin couldn’t stop the smile that broke out across his face, and he felt flushed across every inch of his skin. His clothes felt rough against him, and he shifted in his chair. Then Eliot smiled back, and oh my fucking god,  _ winked _ before launching into his set, and Quentin was a goner. He couldn’t look away. The mix of lyrics and music and Indie Rock Sex God weaved around him like a spell. 

Julia watched him with a strange look on her face, reminiscent of the one her grandmother wore when she was seeing things that others couldn’t, before smiling and nodding, as if she had made an important decision. Then, with a little laugh, she reached across the table and grabbed Quentin’s forgotten cup of decaf chai, knowing there was no way Q was going to remember it existed, let alone drink it.

\--

Eliot was a bundle of throbbing nerves and mixed emotions. On one hand it was clear that his moves were working this weekend, if the fact that Q’s mouth had fallen open and his hands kept unconsciously clenching and unclenching was any indication. But on the other hand, that fuckin’ chick was obviously familiar enough with Quentin to just reach over and drink out of his cup, goddamnit. He flicked his gaze over to the brunette and he swore he saw her smirk before taking a long sip of the drink and putting it back on the table and reaching over to ruffle Q’s hair. Which,  _ for fucks sake _ , momentarily broke the spell Eliot was trying to put over the kid, as he turned to whoever the fuck this girl was and smiled tenderly. 

_ Like fuck you are gonna pay attention to someone else right now _ , Eliot thought. Reaching up, El ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head back to give a good view of his jawline and using the beat in the hook of the chorus as an excuse to demonstrate a taste of just how good he was at thrusting his hips. When he looked back at the crowd, ignoring the literal scream that someone had let out he couldn’t help but smile. The nerd’s entire face was red, and he was biting his lower lip with a look so intense Eliot really fucking wished they were a lot closer to being done with the set than they were.

\--

If you had asked Quentin a month ago if he would ever be at a live Eliot Waugh performance just wishing it was over, he would have laughed in your face. Now, however, Quentin was honestly just wondering how many songs he was going to have to sit through before trying to talk to this man. At the same time, though, he wouldn’t rush it for the world. The longer he sat there the more he felt like there was a physical connection forming between him and the eyeliner and leather wearing fuckin’ god on the stage. With the lighting soft and golden, Quentin wondered if Eliot was a literal angel, especially with a voice like that. Each lyric seemed to add to the energy thrumming between them, and he just really fucking hoped this wasn’t only in his head, because he had never felt this way before. Felt like all the oxygen had left the room while at the same time feeling like he could take a full breath for the first time.

Without even realizing it, he had stood up from his chair and was slowly, ever so slowly, winding his way towards the front of the room, as though a string tied around his rib was tugging him towards an inevitability. 

\--

_ That’s it,  _ Eliot thought.  _ Keep coming closer. Only two songs left, and then you are all mine, baby.  _ Now that Quentin had stood up Eliot could truly drink in his fill of the shorter man. He started with the boots and slowly worked his way up.  _ Not a sweater tonight, _ he thought.  _ But a plaid shirt, that I could unbutton and take off of you, slowly, like I was unwrapping a gift.  _

\--

_ The set has to be almost done by now,  _ Quentin thought, a bit frantically. He paused and took in his surroundings, realizing he was almost within touching distance of the stage somehow. Blinking rapidly, he turned and looked back at Julia, who just smiled and tipped her cup at him with a knowing smile. The knowing look on her face made him start to feel nervous, but as if by some magnetic force his head turned back towards the stage and,  _ Jesus fucking Christ, _ he was looking right into the eyes of Eliot FUCKING Waugh, who had crouched down to growl out the final chorus of what Quentin really hoped was the last song of the evening.

\--

With a final guitar solo and vibrato note, the room went silent. Then, the crowd went wild, obviously hoping for an encore. The band was known for giving at least one,  _ but not tonight fuckers, _ Eliot thought. Quickly removing his ear piece and throwing a glance back at Kady and Alice, who just smiled and shook their heads, Eliot jumped down off the raised stage. Looking at Quentin, he smiled and nodded his head towards the side door off to the left. Q flushed, but nodded back and started making his way over.

\--

_ What the fuck is about to happen?  _ Quentin thought, freaking out.  _ What the fuck am I doing??  _ But even with the nervousness and excitement fighting for dominance in his mind, he was moving as quickly towards that door as he could. Getting past the crowd, he stood right in front of the doorway, and then his anxiety finally won out and he found he couldn’t move. 

But then a hand snaked out and grabbed him by the elbow, impatiently tugging him inside.

He stumbled forward rather ungracefully, before finding himself falling forward into a body that just radiated heat and sex. Looking up, every possible word Q thought of saying left his mind with a whoosh. Those eyes, that hair, the sweat from the stage lights, and that goddamn mouth, jesus fuck.

“Uh, hi” he managed to squeak out.

\--

_ Finally,  _ something in Eliot’s mind growled out.  _ This is what we’ve been waiting for.  _ Staring into eyes he now could see were a brown so deep it would be easy to get lost in, Eliot smiled.

“Hi there” he said, gently, gathering Quentin more firmly in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hi there” Quentin parroted back, and Eliot laughed. “I think we need to expand this conversation a bit beyond basic introductions” he said, guiding Quentin further down the hall. 

Agreeably being pulled down a hallway Quentin started to babble, it was his defense mechanism. “Uh huh. Oh. my name. I’m uh. I’m Quentin. Quentin Coldwater. What’s your name? I mean, no, I know your name, you’re Eliot fucking Waugh. Indie Rock Se… I’m gonna stop saying the words now.” Quentin finished, all in one breath.

Eliot laughed as they reached his intended destination - the room they had been using to change and get ready in. Well, it was more of a store room with giant bags of coffee beans stacked against the wall, but most importantly - it had a door. And a raggedy sofa.  _ And a door. _

“Quentin Coldwater, huh?” He said, steering Q into the room before sprawling on the sofa and patting the spot next to him. “I found out the first half on my own, but I had a bitch of a time trying to track you down on social media without some idea of your last name.”

Quentin stared at him, before sitting on the sofa strategically - straddling the distance of too close and too far away. “You, uh, you were looking for me on social media?” He asked, not really believing it. “I’m not on Twitter, but I do have an insta…” Quentin said, or at least, he thought those were the words he was saying, he was really more just freaking the fuck out about being in the same space as this masterpiece of human evolution.

“Well, before we wind things up this evening, I’ll definitely need to know your Instagram handle,” Eliot murmerd, leaning his head back with a sigh, taking a second to stretch out some of the aching from the show. Turning his head, he eyed Quentin with some serious intent in his gaze.

“Now,” Eliot said, getting closer, “we have about eight minutes before Kady and Alice barge in, and that’s being generous, and while that is nowhere near as much time as I want, I would very much like to close that door and get up to all sorts of trouble with you until they do so, if that is okay.”

Quentin’s mouth dropped open, and he closed it, swallowed, and it dropped open again. but then, after a split second, Q got up and closed the door himself, before coming and sitting back on the sofa, this time close enough that if he had been any closer he would have been in Eliot’s lap. “I mean, we could at least, uh, get to know each other a bit more, I guess. Um, like, what is your favorite color?”

Eliot laughed, reaching out and tucking some of Quentin’s loose hair behind his ear before letting his hand trail down to his neck, which set Quentin’s entire body on fire, and Quentin unconsciously leaned into Eliot’s hand, frowning slightly when Eliot pulled his hand away. “Hmm,” Eliot mused. “It used to be green, but recently I’ve became a real fan of blue.”

“Blue? Blue is good,” Q said tightly, around a knot in his throat, staring at Eliot’s lips and shifting even closer, before looking up into Eliot’s eyes.

With a smile, Eliot shifted his body so that his knees were touching Quentin’s. Getting up in Q’s space he stared. “Blue is good” he said agreeably. “And yours?”

“Hazel” Q said, breathlessly. Then, licking his lips he closed the distance between them, going in for a quick kiss.

But as Quentin started to pull away, Eliot smiled and reached forward, grabbing his neck he pulled Quentin back in, using his other hand to gently tug the willing man into his lap. Quentin whimpered low in the back of his throat before giving in, straddling Eliot and kissing him for all he was worth.

_ Fuck, _ Eliot thought, _ this kid might be better at this than I am. _

Then the time for thinking was over, and they just became a tangle of two bodies fitting together, kissing and moving in unison. Eventually Quentin broke the kiss because he needed to breathe and Eliot just smiled and hummed, moving his mouth to run kisses along Q’s jawline, and behind his ear, which made Quentin make a sound that Eliot decided he liked better than any other sound he had heard in recent memory.

Just as they were really getting into it, Quentin’s hands in Eliot’s hair and Eliot’s fingers deftly working at unbuttoning the smaller man’s shirt they heard a knock at the door. “Get decent if you aren’t already, my phone is in here and Margo is gonna be calling to see how the set went” Alice yelled through the panelled wood.

Groaning, the two men separated. Quentin grabbed a pillow to set in front of him and Eliot took a couple deep breaths. “That was nowhere near eight minutes,” Eliot growled, looking at Quentin who was flushed and adorable, breathing heavily and rebuttoning his shirt. Eliot had to smile, deciding right then and there to not mention to Quentin that it was his hair that needed a lot more work than his shirt did, it very clearly showed exactly what they had just stopped doing, and if Eliot could have, he would have snapped a picture to remember the moment.

“You can enter” Eliot said, adjusting his pants and crossing his legs. Turning to Quentin he said “give me your phone, if you so please” and Quentin just stared at him without comprehension, his fingers unconsciously going up to touch his flushed and well-kissed lips.

Eliot reached out, gently touching Q on the thigh to bring him back to reality. “Q, my dear, if you would be so kind, I would love if you could give me your phone.”

Alice and then Kady came in, Alice making a beeline for her purse and Kady staring at Eliot before shaking her head and going for her jacket.

“My phone?” Quentin asked.

“Yes, you adorable nerd,” Eliot laughed “so that I can put my number in it and text myself. Since my phone is across the room and it would be ...indelicate of me to get up right now and go retrieve it.”

Kady snorted, making a cup of coffee and in no way making eye contact or offering to help.

Quentin flushed a deeper shade of red than before, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. “Yeah, I just.. you.. you don’t have to” he stuttered “I’d understand if you didn’t, I mean” he continued, unlocking the screen.

Eliot just held his hand out impatiently. “It is so kind of you to tell me that it isn’t a requirement,” he said wryly. “I know I don’t  _ have  _ to, Q, but the thing is, you see, I  _ want  _ to.”

Quentin smiled. “Oh” he said, simply, handing over his phone. 

Eliot typed away and Q heard a gentle ping across the room. Hesitating before handing the phone back, Eliot looked at Quentin and asked, “can I open your instagram and add myself there, too? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yes, do that. Please.” Quentin said, “I would very much like for you to do that.”

“Okay,” Eliot replied, “I’m going to add you to my personal account, not the public one.” Giving Quentin a serious look “so please don’t go telling everyone that the account is mine.”

“I wouldn’t do that” Quentin said, forehead creasing in a frown.

“Good.” Eliot said, handing the phone back, and meeting Q’s gaze in the process.

They stayed like that for a moment too long, just, staring at each other.

Then Alice’s phone rang, breaking the silence, and Quentin shook his head and slowly got up from the couch.

“Well, I think that’s my cue” he said, sheepishly. “Especially since Julia is still sitting out there waiting for me.” Seeing himself in the mirror Q made an effort at fixing his hair, before patting it a bit and giving up. “She’s my ride” he explained. “And my best friend.”

_ Julia _ , Eliot thought. _ So that’s the girl’s name. _ “If you must go you must,” he sighed “but please, before you do, when can I see you again?”

Quentin’s face lit up. “You want to see me again?” he asked, incredulous.

“No” Eliot said dryly, “I made out with you on a sofa and gave you my number and my personal instagram because I never want to see you again.”

Q laughed. “Fair point. Well, I teach a lot during the week. But, I’ll text you??”

_ A teacher?  _ Eliot thought.  _ No wonder he gives off such a nerd vibe.  _ “Please do” he said. Quentin started to leave the room, so Eliot stood up. “Oh, and Q? Before you go?” Eliot reached out and pulled the smaller man to himself, smiling before bending down to kiss him thoroughly but quickly. “I just needed one more for the road” he explained as they separated.

“Uh huh” Q said, blinking. “Goodbye for now, then, Eliot Waugh.”

“Please” Eliot said, smoothing back Q’s hair, “just call me El.”


	7. Chapter 7

_ Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit _ was pretty much the only thought on Quentin’s mind as he walked back down the hallway to go find Julia.

“Hey, wait!” Quentin heard behind him, turning to see the drummer, Kady, striding quickly towards him. She stopped for a second, clearly hesitating over whatever it was she had decided to do. He cocked his head to the side, curious as to what she could want. “What’s up?” he finally asked, when the silence had dragged out a bit too long.

“Here,” she said, handing him a piece of paper. “Give this to Julia.” Without saying please, or waiting for a reply she turned on her heel and walked away. But then she stopped and turned around. “Read it yourself before she does, and I’ll know. And be upset. Which, trust me, you don’t want to see.” With a warning glance she tossed her hair over her shoulder and continued back towards the changing room.

Looking down he saw a phone number, which made him smile, and what looked like might be a short note or even a poem. Deciding that he liked having all of his appendages attached, and remembering the stories he had read online about how good Kady was with her fists, Quentin quickly shoved it in a pocket and continued on out of the hall. Entering the main space and scanning the room he could see Julia over by the cafe register with about half of a giant chocolate croissant in her hand, looking to be having the time of her life, chocolate somehow ending up on her nose. 

Smiling he hurried over, “Jules!!” he said happily. Looking up from her dessert she waved. 

“I’m glad you got here now,” she said, laughing, “I intended to save half of this for you,” she waved the croissant for emphasis, “but if you had been much longer I probably would have given in and eaten the whole thing.”

“Please, eat the whole thing. Eat that croissant and then I’ll buy you three more. You fuckin’ deserve it. Tonight wouldn’t have happened without you. Fuck, I’ll buy you one hundred goddamn croissants.” Quentin stated, dramatically. “But hold still quick.” He licked a finger and wiped the chocolate from her nose, as she scrunched up her face. In a stage whisper he added “I just made out with Eliot FUCKING Waugh for over five minutes.”

Julia laughed, before quickly devouring the rest of her snack. “To be honest” she admitted, “I was about to text and see if my car and I were no longer needed and you had arranged, er, other means of transportation and entertainment for the evening.”

Quentin flushed, “I may think that man is walking sex, but I don’t think I have it in me to go home with him when all I know about him really is his name and his favorite color… Oh, and his phone number!” Quentin smiled, proudly holding out his phone as it pinged with a new incoming text. Eliot had added himself in as El, with the winking face emoji after, which Quentin thought was the cutest thing.

“Speaking of phone numbers,” he added, holding up the paper he had been given. “I’ve got one for you. From the drummer.” 

Julia stilled, and her eyes flashed fire. “Quentin fucking Coldwater, so help me if you made me sound like some desperate groupie or lonely heart, I will…  _ I will rip out your teeth and feed them to a goddamn sewer dragon. _ ” Julia said, low and intense. 

“Jesus, Jules” Q said, backing away a few steps. “I wouldn’t do that.  _ She  _ gave the paper to _ me _ , unrequested. Actually followed me out of their changing room to do so. Take it, and dear God, between the two of you I never want to play messenger boy ever again.” He basically threw the paper at her, and of course Julia caught it, midair, with a smile breaking out on her face.

Scanning the note, she blushed. “Sorry” she apologized, “I just didn’t think when I got here that you would be so right about her being my type. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen someone more beautiful. Or so talented with words” she finished, softly, rereading.

“Julia’s got a cruuuuuuuuush,” Quentin singsonged, before grabbing her hand. 

“Yeah? Well so does Quentin,” Julia replied. “And only one of us has hair that clearly just had someone’s talented hands all up in it.” With her free hand she reached up and smoothed it out as best she could, finishing with a few pats what Quentin hadn’t been able to do since breaking lips with Eliot. 

Grinning like a fool, Quentin tugged her towards the door. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go home. We both have people to text and meetings with Indie Rock Sex Gods to plan.”


	8. Chapter 8

Eliot couldn’t believe what he was looking at. He had pulled up Quentin’s instagram and had been scrolling through it for over an hour, trying to reign in the Extra and not like/comment on every goddamn picture. But, _ shit, _ Quentin had a gift. There wasn’t a single picture that Eliot didn’t want to blow up, print out, and hang on his goddamn wall. The only thing he could find wrong with the page is that there were no pictures of Quentin himself, only ones that he took of others. Of everything. 

Eliot didn’t know how a fucking leaf on the sidewalk made him think of his first EP, and the feeling of loss that had filled him when his grandma passed, but shit, it did.

The more he looked at Quentin’s photos, the more he felt like he was looking into his own soul. His heart started to ache in his chest. He saw pictures of that Julia chick, and could feel the invisible wall Q had up between his camera and her smile. He saw a couple in the park laughing, and almost cried at how lonely it made him. How it made him ache for touch. He grinned at the kid running through a sprinkler, mouth open and tongue stained blue from a half-gone popsicle clutched in her hand, and remembered the fourth of July when he was 9.

_ Fuck, _ he thought.  _ This kid is legit. _ Deciding right then and there to take Q somewhere he could watch him take pictures, Eliot pulled up a list of local upcoming festivals. He wanted to watch the process, to try and see more into Quentin’s brain and maybe understand how he saw the world. He felt like maybe it would help him understand himself better, in the end, too. After scrolling for a bit, passing over festivals that he knew he didn’t have the right outfit for, he struck gold.  _ Perfect,  _ he thought. A Mabon festival was coming up - celebrating the harvest and the arrival of autumn. Smiling, he pulled up his texts so he could send off some messages to a certain nerd he was hoping was free that Saturday afternoon. 

\--

_ Holy shit, I’m going on a date with Eliot Waugh this afternoon _ was the first thought Quentin had upon waking. To be fair, the last thought he had last night was quite similar, except more of a ho _ ly fucking FUCK, I’m going on a date with Eliot FUCKING Waugh tomorrow _ . But at 8 in the morning, even though his every nerve was thrumming, it was still a bit too early to be quite that keyed up. He hadn’t even had coffee yet. 

While making breakfast, however (eggs and toast - one of the few things he didn’t burn) Quentin was reconsidering. With how his leg kept twitching and his fingers tapping against the counter, Q decided that maybe today just wasn’t going to be a coffee kind of day. He was enough of a spaz as it is, he didn’t want to start things off with Eliot by ping-ponging off the booths at the festival babbling like an idiot and tripping over his own feet because he had too much caffeine. 

Several hours later Julia tried her best to keep a straight face at Quentin’s antics, but he was being fucking adorable. All frazzled. At one point he mumbled he needed to go shave and walked into the pantry instead of the bathroom. It was cute. Then as she was helping him clean the apartment he had started mopping the rug before she gently took the mop and sent him to instead put away clean dishes. She was pretty sure that the bowls were going to end up in the silverware drawer, but it was better that than Quentin fuckin' bleaching her favorite pillow or some shit. Julia knew, deep down, that this was the start of something huge for her friend, so she kept the teasing to a minimum. She did, however, let Quentin add salt to his tea instead of sugar. She may be his best friend, but she never said she was a saint. While laughing so hard she almost fell off her chair, she managed to snap a picture of his face when he took a drink, for potential blackmailing use later.

“Not funny,” Quentin gasped out, dumping his tea out and gulping some water straight from the sink. Jesus fuck, he thought, please have Eliot be at least a fraction of this discombobulated, too. Looking at the clock, he groaned. He still had two hours to get through before Eliot would be there to pick him up.

\--

Eliot knew he looked good, he was Eliot Waugh, for God’s sake. But he still called Margo and made her leave Alice’s apartment and come reassure him that he looked not just good, but  _ good _ . Fuckable and approachable, but not _ too  _ approachable. This was the first time Quentin would see _ him _ , not his stage presence. The Eliot he was when he turned the volume down a bit (not once since he was 15 years old did he turn the volume off, but yeah, at times he could turn it down). Basically, brown eyeliner instead of black and his shirt was actually on and buttoned. To perfection. Less jewelry. He also had his hair arranged just-so. 

Impatiently, he waited by the door for Margo to get there, pacing back and forth from the mirror to the kitchen clock and then back again, always finding some minor flaw to fix when he looked at himself, and not believing only two more minutes had passed each time he checked the clock.

Finally hearing a key in the door, he hurried forward, needing his Bambi to give him the all-clear and knowing she would fix any glaring errors he had made. Not that he, Eliot Waugh, made many errors, but today was different _goddamnit,_ and Quentin was too delicious and sweet for Eliot to not be at his absolute best. 

Margo entered, muttering, Alice trailing behind her. Eliot looked affronted. “What?” Margo asked “You’re gonna be gone, the apartment is going to be empty, I’m not working, Alice isn’t working, and the soundproofing here is much better than at her place.” Alice blushed as Margo tugged her more fully into the apartment, firmly shutting the door behind them. “Turn around” Margo commanded after moving them to the kitchen for the better lighting. “Slowly, christ El. Slowly - I need to get the full effect.”

Eliot did what she said, making a little show of it, and Margo inspected every inch of him before going into his closet and getting a different pocket square and fixing one curl at the back of his head that he hadn’t quite been able to get right. Of course, she hit the nail on the head and Eliot breathed a sigh of relief. “What would I do without you, Bambi?” he asked, gratefully, pulling her in close for a hug and resting his chin on her head.

“Crash and burn, El, you’d crash and burn.” Margo said into the comforting warmth of his chest. “Now leave” she said, firmly. “You have a boy to woo and I should have been fucking my girlfriend for the last twenty minutes at least.”

Eliot grabbed his coat, gave Alice a quick hug and a peck on the cheek and was out the door and into his car in a flash.

\--

_ Shit, _  Eliot realized when he pulled up to the address Quentin had given him,  _ I’m an hour early. How the fuck did I not realize I was an entire fucking hour early?  _ Shrugging, he decided to roll with it, and after taking a deep breath, made his way to the building. But before he had even finished going up the five steps to the porch, the door opened, and Quentin was standing there, smiling at Eliot with a giant puppy dog grin and Eliot couldn’t help it, he just smiled right back.

\--

“Hi” Quentin finally managed to say, after looking Eliot over and making El glad he had called in the Bambi reserves. “You’re early.”

Eliot shrugged sheepishly, after looking Quentin up and down with a gaze that made Q’s entire body hum. “Sorry,” he said “I wasn’t sure about traffic, and my roommate wanted alone time with her girlfriend and...”

“NO NO NO!!!!” Quentin said, quickly. “It is a good thing!!! I’ve been ready for an hour and I was starting to lose my mind just sitting and waiting for you.” He motioned Eliot forward before confessing “Um, I may have opened the door for the mailman so quick I almost gave him a heart attack… And then insulted him when I just said ‘oh it’s you’ and shut the door again.”

Eliot laughed, “Well, in that case, I am not sorry, and yes, I am an hour early, so are you going to make me stand in your doorway like an unwelcome vampire, Quentin Coldwater, or are you going to invite me in?”

Quentin gulped before backing up into the hallway. “Please,” he said “come right on in. Julia is here, by the way, but I can give you the fifty cent tour before we head on our way.” Turning he started walking down the narrow hall before looking back and calling, “do you drink tea?” as an afterthought.

El smiled, following after him. “I do” he said, purposefully not mentioning that as of right now his experiences with tea were limited to chamomile and green. Black, if it was iced. 

Quentin nodded “In that case, I’ll put the kettle on, and we can start the tour in the kitchen. Right this way!”

They stepped into the smallest goddamn kitchen Eliot had ever seen, though he was sure to not mention this. Quentin opened one of the,  _ holy shit, they only had four fucking cupboards?! _ and Eliot was looking at the largest selection of tea he could imagine. 

“Pick your poison!” Quentin said cheerfully, going to fill the kettle and pulling out mugs. Eliot’s brain froze and he grabbed the first box he saw, panicking. 

“Here,” he said, holding it out. “This one.”

Quentin looked at the box and then back at Eliot… “That one?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Eliot looked more closely at it and blushed, he had grabbed a box of tea for PMS.

Committed, now, though, he said “Yes. My cramps have been a bitch this month.”

Quentin laughed, “why don’t we start with this?” he said, stepping forward and reaching past Eliot’s face, causing Eliot to catch his breath and grabbing a box of mint tea. “You look like a mint guy,” Quentin said, staring into Eliot’s hazel eyes until the sound of someone clearing their throat broke the spell.

Looking behind Quentin, Eliot saw Julia, who apparently had been in the kitchen the whole time. How had he missed her, in a kitchen the size of his closet? Looking at Quentin, blushing and adorable. _ Oh, _ Eliot thought softly to himself,  _ that is how.  _

He was thankful that she had chosen that moment to let her presence be known, as he had been mere seconds from grabbing Quentin around the waist, picking him up and setting him on the counter, spreading his legs to stand in between, and kissing him until the nerd forgot his own name. Making eye contact with her, he saw that she was very much aware of this, and that it had played a large part in why that was the exact moment she had a tickle in her throat.

“Hey guys” she said, waving the broccoli she was holding with chopsticks at them cheerfully, before returning to her takeout container with gusto.

“Um… Hi, hi Jules!!!” Quentin stuttered, taking a deep breath and a step back from Eliot. “Julia, Eliot Waugh. Eliot, Julia Wicker” he said, pointing the tea box at each of them as he spoke their names. 

“Hello, Ms. Wicker,” Eliot said with a smile “it is nice to formally meet you.” 

The kettle started singing so Quentin busily turned to prepare their drinks. “Jules, can you keep an eye on these and take the tea bags out after the five minutes?” He asked “I want to show Eliot the rest of our place.”

“Sure thing, curly Q,” Julia said, winking. “I’ll even bring them to the living room with me, as I assume that is where you are ending the tour?”

“Uh, yes.” Quentin said. “Definitely ending it in the living room. By you.”

Grabbing Eliot’s hand he tugged him out of the room. The tour took all of five minutes, as their apartment was small, but Eliot loved it the more he saw. It fit Q, somehow. It was, for lack of a better word, cozy.

They ended in the living room, where, true to her word, Julia had set their tea out, on coasters, on a raggedy second hand trunk that served as a table. Eliot’s first thought was  _ why the fuck do you need coasters on that thing?  _ But the second thought, following closely after, was _ holy shit, who has this many books? _ The walls were lined with bookshelves, and it was funny, but Eliot was pretty sure he could clearly tell which shelves were Julia’s and which were Quentin’s, though a couple of them looked like a mix.  Walking over, mug of tea in hand, Eliot took his time looking at all the covers. Some, which he could tell were well-loved, he caressed with his fingers, trying to learn more about Quentin from running his finger down their spine.

Quentin didn’t think that watching someone be interested in what he read would be arousing, but it was. Eliot was clearly taking his time, pausing now and again to read the back of the book before sliding it back. When he caressed the spine of Quentin’s childhood copy of Fillory and Further, Quentin shivered. Somehow that was almost more intimate than the kiss they had shared last weekend. Well, not in the same way, but it felt like Eliot’s graceful fingers had just brushed up against his soul, in the least cheesy way possible. Swallowing hard, Quentin turned to Julia, who smiled and nodded, before getting up and quietly leaving the room.

“Do you read?” Quentin asked, when he could speak. 

Eliot looked over at where he was sitting and shook his head, crossing the room to sit directly next to him on the couch, not even glancing at the three other chairs he could have chosen. “Poetry? Yes. Prose? Not so much.” He admitted. “I love writing, but I actually prefer to be read to, so I can be doing something with my hands while listening.” He explained.

Quentin stilled, the image of reading to Eliot as Eliot ran his hands through his hair softly filling his mind. Looking at El, he saw a flicker pass over his face, and knew that Eliot had been thinking, maybe not the same thing exactly, but something similar.

“Reading out loud is one of my favorite things to do” Quentin said, quietly. Embarrassed at admitting something so personal, Quentin let his hair fall forward, covering his face.

“Well” Eliot said, reaching a hand out to tuck the errant locks back behind Quentin’s ear. “That works out nicely, then.”

For several breaths they just looked at eachother, something growing between them, before, surprisingly, Eliot stood. Rubbing his hands together briskly, he said “okay, then. We should probably get going if we want to get a nice parking space anywhere near the festival.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Quentin blinked and tried to calm his body’s aching nerves. “Right, the festival… Let me grab my coat, and we can be on our way!”


	9. Chapter 9

The festival was beautiful. The weather was crisp and perfect, and Quentin could feel that his cheeks were flushed from the wind. With so many emotions in the air and people around, Q froze, not knowing what to take a picture of first. There was the steam coming off of the cauldron of cider they had over an open fire, but also the way the sky was dappled with fresh-kissed-pink colored clouds. Q smiled, thinking back to his conversation with Eliot in the car - where El made it very clear that not only did he not mind Quentin taking pictures, he actually encouraged it.

“I want to be able to look back and see this day through your eyes” Eliot had said while turning into an open parking space, which was probably the corniest thing Quentin had ever heard, but it still made Q’s heart skip a beat. All through the week Quentin had been checking his phone to see more and more notifications of Eliot like his pictures, and Quentin loved it. It made him feel seen, even though none of the pictures were of his face, it was more like they were pictures of his inner soul. They hadn’t spoken about it in detail, but somehow Q knew that Eliot understood that.

Of course, Eliot’s personal IG was mostly blurry pictures of food and alcohol, but Quentin figured this was due to him spending more time writing than looking at things, and being nervous that even though his account was private somehow a fan would find it and he would lose the outlet. The pics Eliot had up of a beautiful laughing woman made Quentin’s guts clench, until when they were texting El mentioned his bff Margo, and then Q smiled, thinking,  _ oh, he also has a Julia! _

Eliot got them both cups of cider, passing Q’s over to him before hurriedly taking it right back. “This is hot, Quentin” he rebuked, when Quentin frowned and reached for the cup, “so you get it back when I know you aren’t going to scald your tongue. Jesus, with the amount of tea you drink you think you would know that steam equals heat”

Quentin shrugged, “I think at this point in my life, I’m just used to being burnt.”

Eliot’s heart sank at the casual comment, because he could tell that it held a lot more meaning than just as a reference  to his choice in beverages.

But then Q pulled out his camera and El was entranced. Eliot could see all the tension and anxiety literally fall off of him. He grew more confident and loose with his movements, almost graceful. It was beautiful. It made Eliot wonder what he could personally do to Quentin to be able to see Q lose all of the tension in his body… Preferably without clothes involved. Like in the bedroom Quentin had briefly shown him earlier, the dark bedspread would be a perfect color contrast to the color of Quentin’s creamy skin...  _ Hush, brain, _ he told himself firmly.  _ We are in public. This is a first date. Control your damn libido. _

The afternoon flew by, they went on two hayrides, because Quentin insisted, and Eliot wasn’t about to tell him no, even though the rides were a painful reminder of his childhood spent farming. Eliot put the cap on the rides, then, he could only handle so much memory in one sitting. Quentin sat right at the edge of the wagon, and was snapping pictures left and right. Eliot only took one, quick and fast, when Q was engrossed in getting just the right shot of one of the apple trees they passed.

Later on they dipped apples in caramel, Eliot sticking with the classic and Quentin going on to cover his caramel with nuts and bits of chocolate candy. 

Q cocked his head, his mouth full of chocolate and caramel and granny smith green apple. 

Knowing Q was wondering why Eliot’s apple was so lacking in caloric additions, but unable to ask around the massive amount of sugar in his mouth, El laughed.“You and Alice would get along” Eliot mused “when it comes to sugar. But some of us” he explained “like to stick with the classic flavor pairings. Just like my favorite cocktail - a gin martini with olive juice.” 

Quentin swallowed, scrunching up his nose “Wine’s better” he replied. 

Quentin was adorable, most of his apple still left but all the candy coating eaten away, Eliot held out his hand and Q passed over the remains of his treat. Eliot, of course, had eaten his down to the core. Tossing the sticks and wax paper into the trash can, Eliot moved and sat next to Q on the park bench. “Wine has its place” he agreed, “but martinis are a classic for a reason." Catching Quentin around the neck, Eliot pulled him closer, Quentin’s eyes widening as he eagerly leaned in.

Eliot captured Quentin’s lips with his own, tasting the sugar and the salt mingled on Q’s tongue. This was a very different kiss from last weekend, it was sweeter, but just as delicious. Eliot broke away after a minute or two, conscious of the fact that they were very much in public and people had phones and his band wasn’t  _ that _ indie and underground. El wanted to be sure to respect Quentin’s privacy, but when he walked around looking that cute, and made those kinds of sounds when Eliot moved his lips just so, Eliot wasn’t strong enough to resist.

“All our caramel apple dates should end like this” Eliot said, decidedly, “and you should always add that extra chocolate. Maybe it is part of why you taste so sweet.”

Quentin blushed and shoved his hands into his jacket pocket. “So,” he asked, shyly, “you want to go out again?” 

“Yes.” Eliot said firmly. “Do you?” 

“Um, like, yeah, of course. I like you. A lot.” Q responded with a nervous look.

“Well, then, that is settled.” Eliot declared. “We will have more caramel apple dates in the future.” 

Standing up he reached out for Quentin’s hand, which Q was quick to give him. “I’d like that. A lot.” Q said with a smile.

Hand in hand they slowly made their way past the booths where people were packing up, and as they neared the parking lot, Quentin hummed, perfectly content.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a hot sec, that finale did a number on me. More notes at the end of the chapter, I hope you enjoy!!

They got back to the car, but somewhere between Eliot opening the door for Quentin and then walking around the car the mood of their date changed. Completely. Maybe it was how El lightly caressed Q’s lower back as he was getting into his seat, or the way that Quentin reached over to adjust Eliot’s seatbelt that somehow was twisted right near his hip...

Either way, the drive seemed to take hours but also no time at all. The closer they got to Q’s apartment the more the tension between them seemed to build. Each block they drove past seemed to wrap another layer of heat around Eliot’s vehicle until Quentin was pretty sure he was on fire. He was entranced, watching Eliot’s hands on the wheel, delicately flashing a turn signal here, flipping off an asshole driver there, it was like El was weaving an erotic dance with his hands and Quentin  _ could not look away _ .

\--

Eliot saw Quentin looking, and he also noticed how Q was trying not to look like he was looking. As the drive neared its end all the thoughts El had about ending the evening with a chaste kiss on the doorstep (he will only come back if you leave him wanting more) seemed to vanish out the window like cigarette smoke. Speaking of…

“Care to light me a smoke?” Eliot said softly into the quiet of their breathing. 

Quentin nodded, fumbling into his knapsack. “Sure thing… But all I have are Marlboros.”

“You don’t go easy on the nicotine, do you?” Eliot teased. “I think that I would prefer one of my lighter smokes, if you don’t mind.”

Pausing, he looked at Quentin for a beat too long before looking back at the road. “The pack is in my inner jacket pocket. I can get it out if you need….” he trailed off

Q shook his head firmly “Keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road, I’ll grab them.”

Both of them pretended not to notice the slight tremble of Quentin’s hand as he gently reached into Eliot’s suit, before taking a breath and grabbing the pack. Eliot was almost sure that the heat of Quentin’s hand being that close to his skin left a fuckin’ burn mark on his shirt, but when he looked down, all he saw was the puckered strain of his chest against the burgundy silk.

\--

Quentin definitely also noticed, but he just cleared his throat, and grabbed out a lighter. Putting one of Eliot’s smokes between his lips Q flicked the lighter and breathed in until he was sure the cherry was lit. He then reached over and placed the cigarette directly into Eliot’s waiting mouth, brushing his fingers against the taller man’s jaw as he moved his hand away.

Busying himself to distract from the tension, Quentin also lit up a cig. Then reaching into his bag, Q grabbed out his phone to send a quick text to Julia to see if she was home, and if not, exactly how long their apartment would be empty. Not that there was any reason he was wondering, of course. 

But when he checked the screen he saw she had just sent him a message saying she was pulling a double shift at the hospital, and wouldn’t be home until morning. His heart sped up and he couldn’t help smiling. 

_ That is hours from now, _ he thought happily.  _ Hours and hours and hours. _

\--

Eliot tightened his grip on the wheel, trying not to notice the clench of his stomach when Quentin smiled like that.  _ Shit, that goes straight to my… heart. _ Eliot thought. 

\--

Shooting off a quick reply, Quentin noticed they were almost there, only a couple more blocks.

“Who dares to text you when so clearly I am supposed to have your undivided attention?” Eliot teased.

“It’s Jules,” Q explained. “She’s an ER nurse and she is letting me know she is slammed at work so she won’t be back home until at least after 10 a.m.” 

Quentin blushed at the thought that Eliot would take this as an invitation to stay over, so he quickly added “She, uh, she tries to let me know when she won’t be around. Especially overnight. Um, it helps with my anxiety to know when I’m gonna be alone in the house, and when I’m not.”

\--

Eliot smiled, pulling the car up alongside the curb outside Q’s home. “Well, to be honest I’m kind of hoping you don’t want to be alone just yet” he said, putting the car in park.

The pause before Quentin answered was only a few seconds, but to Eliot, it seemed to last a lifetime.  _ Shit,  _ he thought,  _ what if he doesn’t want me to come in? What if this is all in my head, what if, what if, what if…. _

“No,” Q said gently, breaking the silence. “Not quite yet… I mean, uh, I at least have to ask you in for… tea.”

Eliot gratefully let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yes,” he said, unbuckling. “Tea sounds good.” Getting out he quickly went to open Quentin’s door. As Q got up out of the car Eliot stood right in his space and looked into those chocolate eyes. Reaching out, Eliot ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair. With a glint in his eye, Eliot couldn’t help but add- “I am definitely… thirsty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry I ended it here, lol. I promise chapter 11 is coming soon. I just couldn't go to sleep another night without adding to this nice fluff and at least starting to earn the "Mature" rating I gave myself when this fic started, lol.  
> Full disclosure: I am not ready to talk about the absolute travesty that was that finale. But hey, after some time reflecting and screeching "why, Why, WHY??!" to the heavens, I decided to slightly speed up my storyline, because I don't know about you, but I fuckin' NEED me some Queliot cuteness and steaminess right about now. Hope you enjoyed it!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where I start to really earn the "Mature" rating. Consider yourself warned.

Quentin had never unlocked a door this quickly before in his life. The heat of Eliot’s body was warm against his back, and Q was pretty sure he was supposed to do something with his lungs, oh yeah, right,  _ breathe _ .

Upon entering Q started walking down the hall to the kitchen.

_ And so much closer to the bedroom, too,  _ Quentin thought,  _ fuck _ . 

Panicking he started to babble “well, um, you saw the tea before, but it is late, so we should probably stick with, ah, caffeine free. So I have blueberry, raspberry, lemon, honey lemon, ginger, wild berry, chai, decaf green, decaf green with jasmine, mint…” 

_ Shut up, Quentin,  _ he thought to himself, looking back at Eliot as they made their way towards the stove and kitchen cupboards.  _ Oh thank God _ . Eliot was smiling and slowly getting closer.

Q kinda freaked. He ran to the cupboard and flung it open, listing teas faster and faster “There’s, um, also peach, revitalize, mellow, sweet basil ( _ which-i-swear-is-better-than-it-sounds) _ , uh, vanilla chamomile, regular chamomile, honey lavender, spiced cinnamon apple, that’s a good one…” Feeling Eliot come up behind him Q grabbed the apple tea. “I think we should go with this” he said, turning, “it will match our, um… day.” 

Eliot was right there, and at the look in his eye Quentin almost dropped the box of tea on the floor.

\--

_ What a goddamn adorable fucking nerd,  _ Eliot thought, trailing behind Quentin into the kitchen. His heart was speeding up, and when the kid started listing off teas El couldn’t help but laugh.

_ Jesus fuck, _ he thought,  _ I’m absolutely certain at least three of those flavors have to be made up _ .

He remembered what he had wanted to do earlier that day when they were in this tiny shoebox of a kitchen. Intent on his goal, Eliot moved closer to the babbling tea man and when Quentin turned around, El was glad that he seemed to get it. Q stopped talking and stared at El, clutching the tea in front of him.

Reaching out, Eliot grabbed the box from Quentin and firmly set it down on the counter. Looking into his eyes, El grabbed Q around the waist and lifted him up and set him down on the counter so they were at eye level. 

Quentin eagerly assisted, using his hands to help boost himself up. 

“Is this okay?” El asked softly, pausing before moving any further forward.

“Oh definitely, yes” Quentin replied.

Eliot gently touched Q on the thigh, encouraging him with some slight pressure to spread out his legs before moving into the space Quentin had opened for him.

Quentin’s eyes were a bit glazed over with what can only be called lust, but he was quick to reach out and grab Eliot’s hip to tug him even closer, lining up the most interesting parts of their bodies.

\--

_ This is really happening  _ was the only cohesive thought Quentin had before Eliot leaned in and kissed him. Gently for a second, but when Q opened his mouth right away to welcome him in, El growled low in his throat and the kiss quickly turned ravenous and thorough. 

Quentin’s hands itched to touch Eliot, and, realizing that they were __ finally _ alone _ and not about to be interrupted by band members or roommates Q gave in to the temptation. He reached a hand around El’s back, tensing his thighs around the taller man and caressing the heat of his skin through the silk shirt.    
Quickly getting impatient at all the goddamn clothes between him and Eliot’s skin, Q tugged at the shirt to pull it out from where it was nice and neatly tucked into El’s pants. Eliot laughed lightly, breaking their kiss momentarily to finish tugging his shirt out of his pants worried that if he didn’t assist Quentin might rip some stitches in his quest.

Happy for the moment, Q hummed, slipping his hands under Eliot’s shirt and  _ finally, fucking finally, _ running his fingers against that beautiful skin.

His breath hitched when Eliot kissed him in that same spot he had the weekend before. Right where his jaw ended, a bit below and behind his ear.

_ He remembered, oh fuck, of course he remembered _ Q thought, feeling himself start to harden.  _ Jesus christ, I’m getting hard faster than I did in middle school when Matt kissed me under the bleachers _ . 

\--

Eliot, feeling Q through his jeans, was smugly self satisfied.  _ I am so goddamn glad I didn’t leave him at the door with a kiss _ , he thought, _ that idea was just plain idiotic _ . He took his hands from where they were busily tangling up Q’s hair and started unbuttoning Quentin’s shirt. 

Normally he was really good at this, quickly unwrapping boys like they were Christmas presents, but with Quentin Eliot suddenly realized he wanted to watch. He wanted to see Q slowly get bare before him. So he stopped the kissing and backed up a breath, needing to look.

Quentin whined at the break in the kissing, chasing Eliot’s face with his mouth, but when he opened his eyes and saw the look Eliot was giving him, the rest of his whine died in his throat.

“It should be illegal to look at someone like that” Quentin panted, which made Eliot smile.

“It should be illegal to look like that” Eliot returned smoothly.

Quentin smiled like a goddamn fool at that, which made Eliot lunge forward and soundly kiss Quentin again, for the moment forgetting that his goal was to get Q out of his clothes.

After momentarily satisfying his craving for the sweet taste of Q, El stepped back again.

“I was wondering if you would be okay with this moving in the direction of your bedroom?” Eliot asked, and Quentin’s eyes lit up.

“But…. tea.” he protested weakly, already hopping off the counter and grabbing Eliot’s hand. 

Eliot impatiently tugged Quentin towards the room, and more importantly,  _ the bed _ . “Tea isn’t what I’m thirsty for” he said, dumbly, pausing to laugh after realizing that yes, he just said  _ that _ . The mood temporarily shifting, Quentin snorted.

“That has to be the worst goddamn line I have ever heard,” Q teased, “and I was once told that my underwear must come from outer space because my booty is out of this world.”

“Shut up” Eliot laughed “It wasn’t that bad.”

\--

Getting to his room Quentin wasn’t surprised at all when Eliot just opened the door and walked in as though he owned the place. 

When Eliot looked back at him with his intent clear in his eyes the laughing mood of the hallway left as quickly as it came. 

Eliot tugged Quentin to the bed and not so gently pushed him back on it. Quentin was very okay with this, pausing to tug off his shoes before laying down, completely ready to surrender to whatever the beautiful man wanted to do. 

“I would really like to take off your clothes now,” Eliot said, slinking forward until he was perched over Quentin, clearly looking Q up and down. “Slowly. I want to unwrap you, beginning with that shirt. Starting here” he lightly touched Quentin’s flushed throat at the apex of his collar, “moving here.” He brushed his fingers against the bulge of Quentin’s jeans much too briefly for Quentin’s taste. “Kissing and licking my way down with each new inch of exposed skin.” Eliot trailed his fingers back up Quentin’s chest, before staring into Q’s eyes, a promise and a whole lot of intent clear in his gaze.

Quentin remembered the feeling of El’s lips and tongue on his jaw, and visualizing those lips in other places made him feel like his bones had completely melted. It was a good thing he was laying down, or he very well might have fallen over. He paused, anticipating, but then realized Eliot was waiting for a sign.

Q nodded emphatically and Eliot got close, so goddamn close. His fingers stilled inches above Quentin’s chest, and when Q raised himself up to try and meet the heat of El’s hand, El shook his head no.

Moving up Quentin’s body until his lips were right by Quentin’s ear Eliot purred “I need to hear you say it.”

“El…” Q managed to get out, “please.”

Quentin breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared that this was enough, as Eliot’s hands started caressing his chest before playfully working at the top button of his shirt. He honestly wasn’t sure he was capable of more words with the heat of Eliot’s body over him, close but still too far away. His hips started moving on their own, seeking friction.

\--

_ Yes, _ Eliot thought, smugly.  _ This is perfect. This is what I want - what you need _ . Seeing Quentin’s hips starting to move Eliot took a moment to gently press them back down against the bed. 

“No” he said firmly, shaking his head “not yet.”

Quentin let out a shaky breath, but nodded, and Eliot felt he could return his attention to getting rid of at least some of this unnecessary clothing. He took his time, slowly unbuttoning Quentin’s shirt and kissing and licking his way down Q’s body as he had to admit he had wanted to do since he first saw him sitting at that bar. He kept pausing to look at the kid, watching him get more and more unraveled. Q’s hips started twitching the lower Eliot got, and Eliot was proud of the effect he was clearly having. Once he got to the buckle of Quentin’s belt Q’s fingers were gripping his quilt and his eyes were shut tight. 

Finally taking pity on Q, Eliot ushered his hips up so he could tug the jeans down and off of the smaller man. “Okay” Eliot said, returning to the, kissing along the band of Quentin’s boxers, “now you can feel free to lose your shit.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?” Quentin managed to gasp out, his hands moving to tangle in Eliot’s hair as El tugged his boxers down. Too in the moment to feel even the slightest bit self conscious, Quentin tried to direct Eliot’s wandering mouth to what felt like the only place Eliot hadn’t kissed and licked yet, letting out a frustrated moan as El changed direction and licked down the slope of Q’s hip.

“I don’t think I’m the one who is…. Cocky.” Eliot said pointedly, his eyes glazing over as he stared at Quentin’s erection, smiling slightly as he licked his lips.

Quentin started to think of a reply before all of the breath left his body as Eliot finally,  _ fucking finally _ , swallowed him to the root. Then all he was capable of was desperate moans as he proceeded to get the best goddamn blowjob of his entire life, no, his  _ entire existence _ , pretty sure all of his past lives could be included.

Quentin didn’t need to know this, at least not yet, but there was honestly not much that got Eliot off more than giving good head to a responsive partner. It was an artform he had perfected. And Eliot was pretty sure this was his masterpiece. 

When Q came with a shuddering gasp Eliot slowly kissed his way back up Q’s body, before reaching a hand into his own pants to take care of his own needs.

\--

Not in the least self-conscious at being completely naked when Eliot was still mostly clothed, Quentin breathlessly lounged, recovering, and watched Eliot start to jerk himself off. After a moment, Q sat up and came closer.

“I could help with that, you know” he said softly, and at Eliot’s nod he took over, loving how responsive El was to the movements of his fist. Realizing that El was not far from cumming, Quentin stopped.

El let out a groan. “Fuck, Q, not  _ now _ .”

“Strip please” Q said, going for bold and somehow ending up in the land of adorable. “I want to see all of you  when you cum.”

Eliot had never removed his clothes quite so quickly, not even bothering to make a show out of it, just needing Quentin’s hand back where it had been so fucking good at making his brain and body catch fire. Kicking off his pants, Eliot reached out and grabbed Q’s hand, tugging it back to where he so desperately needed it. Quentin smiled and went to work, pretty certain he was doing some of his best work. Cumming a few breathless moments later, Eliot collapsed. 

Q reached over and grabbed his shirt from the floor, handing it to El so he could clean up before falling back on the bed. Turning on his side, he met Eliot’s gaze.

“Holy shit” Quentin said, smiling, and tugging the quilt down before slipping underneath.

Tossing the shirt and crawling in next to Q, Eliot laughed. “Holy shit” he agreed.

Eliot curled around Q, tugged him closer, kissing his shoulder and starting to hum a song that was vaguely familiar.

“What song is that?” Q asked, eyes closing, but he fell asleep before he heard Eliot’s reply.

\-- 

Eliot couldn’t sleep, the moonlight illuminating the room was just enough for him to be able to stare down at the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. After what felt like hours he had to get up. Trying to be careful not to wake Q- he slipped out of bed, grabbing his pants and his smokes. El went out to the stoop, he was not sure if they smoked in the apartment with all those books and whatever, and didn’t want to chance it. 

A couple minutes after lighting up he heard the door open behind him. Turning he saw Quentin, blinking sleepily and wearing just boxers and a large shirt, a cigarette between his lips.

“Sorry,” Eliot apologized, breathing out some smoke “I didn’t meant to wake you.”

“Oh,” Q said, “you didn’t. My alarm went off, I had to take my meds. I saw you weren’t there and neither were your cigs, so I made an educated guess.”

“Meds?” Eliot asked, concerned. “You’re sick?”

Quentin laughed, “just in my brain” he reassured El, “it breaks sometimes. But when I remember to take my meds it breaks a lot less.”

Eliot nodded, “I get that. I’m glad the meds help.”

Quentin sat next to El on the step, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder.

“Me too,” he said sleepily, around a yawn. 

They finished their cigarettes in companionable silence.

Standing up first, Eliot held out his hand to Quentin to help him up.

Then for a minute they just stood there, holding hands and staring.

“So,” Quentin said eventually, as he smiled and turned to go back into the house. “Tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are happy with my efforts!!!! I tried really hard to get the smut/fluff mix just right. Please let me know how I did (kindly), this was my first attempt at MLM smut, haha.


	12. Chapter 12

Julia was having a fuck of a night. First, she was supposed to be off, and at  _ home _ , reading a goddamn  _ book _ with a glass of fucking  _ wine _ . But when Fen got sick of course Julia could cover for her, the ER was small, and it would be mean to leave them understaffed. If she did that there would be no way she could even enjoy her wine night. Then someone from HR came in screeching about how Josh had hit his hours for the week and if he went over one more goddamn time it would be the last and literally marched him out the door… Basically, one thing led to another and not only was Julia working on one of her only nights off, she was pulling a goddamn double. 

Shooting off a text to Q with one of the five minutes she actually had to sit down, she chugged a green juice and forced down a banana. Just as she was searching through Josh’s locker looking for some pastry to offset all the healthy she had just taken in (he always had the best snacks) her pager went off. Snagging a muffin and looking down, her heart dropped. 

_ Apparently someone is having an even worse night then me,  _ she thought, inhaling her muffin as she hurried back to the floor. Grabbing the intake chart and warning Tick away from the half of her muffin that was left, she hurried across the room to her new bed. Hearing swearing coming from the curtained space Julia took a moment to glance at the chart, and then she froze.  _ Shit,  _ she thought,  _ shit shit shit shit shit. _

Patting her hair to try and fix the frazzled messy bun before giving up, Julia let out a breath. Putting on her professional smile and straightening her spine, she opened the curtain and went in.

The name on the chart? The name of the patient currently calling someone “a fucking puss-filled boil on the ass of society”? Kady Orloff-Diaz.

\--

Kady was having a fuck of a night. It started out fine enough, she had a casual meet-up with some friends, and everything was going great until some asshole started mocking Harriet. At first Kady just shot him a look, and that seemed to shut him up. But then he got a couple more drinks in him, and he was being fucking rude. And no one is rude to Kady’s friends for long. 

One thing led to another, the douche had friends, and when those friends showed up they had no problem turning a verbal altercation into a physical one. And fuck if Kady ever backed down from a fight. She was holding her own, too, when Harriet got back from the bathroom and joined in. Between the two of them and the bouncer, the assholes were in the wind and Harriet was dragging her to the nearest ER, signing her utter disappointment at Kady’s piss-poor anger management the whole time they sat in the waiting room.

_ This wasn’t even one of my worse fights,  _ Kady thought.  _ Sure my rib might be fucked since it hurts to breathe, but come on, I’m not even bleeding that much _ . 

When she tried to say as much to Harriet the blonde’s signing got so fast it was a blur and Kady had to ask her to yell at her slower so she could understand more words than “concussion,” “fracture,” and “stupid asshat.” Harriet was still going strong as they went back to the actual ER, Kady being forced to use a wheelchair to get to the bed.

“In my defense,” Kady said to Harriet, in the first break of her lecture, “I did try talking to him first. But he was determined to be a fucking puss-filled boil on the ass of society.”

Someone cleared their throat before opening the curtain and to Kady’s complete and absolute dismay, when she looked up from Harriet’s hands, it was the beautiful woman she had scratched a poem out to last weekend and been texting off and on. Julia. 

_ Shit, _ Kady thought, at first trying to hide her cut arm under her jacket before realizing that was dumb since Julia was in scrubs,  _ standing there looking like a goddamn goddess which was unfair, _ and so was clearly a nurse. Her nurse, apparently.  _ Shit shit shit shit shit. _

\--

Julia had to fight her instinct to immediately go over and caress the cut on Kady’s face, but then, looking her her over, Jule’s heart stuttered a bit. Kady looked like she had been trapped outside during a hurricane.  _ Or rather,  _ Julia thought,  _ like she has been in a pretty rough brawl. _ Clearing her head Julia made the complete mental shift away from this-is-a-cute-girl-I’ve-been-texting-who-wrote-me-a-beautiful-poem to this-is-a-patient-in-pain-I-have-to-assess.

\--

Twenty minutes and a flurry of activity later, even Harriet was impressed with the small brunette. Flitting about the room while also seeming to fully be concentrating on Kady’s needs Julia had gotten the doctor in, the IV going, some mild pain meds on their way from the pharmacy, and all the minor abrasions cleaned and taken care of. Knowing her friend was in good hands, Harriet stepped out to video chat with Margo and Alice, who she had hastily texted an hour or so ago, updating them on Kady’s progress. 

\--

The cut on her arm was going to need stitches, and Julia assured Kady that the doctor who was going to take care of that would be in very shorty.  _ If I have to page him every two goddamn minutes,  _ she thought to herself grimly,  _ he will get off his ass and come work his plastic surgery suture magic. _

\--

A few x-rays and some pain meds later, Kady was being stitched up. The doctor had come in looking grumpy and tired, but before stepping out Julia had made sure to reassure her that he truly was the best of the best, and Kady trusted her.

_ Julia, _ she thought.  _ Juuuuuuuulia. Her name sits on my tongue like a bell, perched waiting to be rung. _

When Harriet came back in Kady said as much to her and both the doctor and Harriet laughed. Though after she glared at him, the doctor had the good sense to try and turn the laugh into a sneeze/cough combo, before turning back to finish up the last stitch and hastily make his exit after explaining to her how to care for the wound.

Kady laughed at him, “you really think I don’t know how to clean a wound?” She asked, aware that she wasn’t being her most polite but unable to hold it in. Julia stepped in with some insurance paperwork and a tetanus shot and Kady included her in her next statement.

“You guys think I don’t know how to care for stitches?! Look at this!!!” She yanked her gown up, showing the scar on her hip that was just starting to lose its reddish tone (courtesy of her last boyfriend). “Or this!” she announced, this time directing their attention to the faded white line on her leg where her mother had nicked her with the broken wine bottle. Seeing their faces and realizing that the drugs might be making her a little loopy, Kady pulled her gown back down.

“Let’s just leave it at I know how to take care of stitches” she muttered, brushing it off and staring at the ceiling.

The doctor scurried off and Harriet excused herself, leaving just Julia and Kady in the room. 

For a moment Kady saw something personal through the professional gaze Julia was showing her, and she was pretty sure that at some point when they weren’t at Julia’s work, if things continued on, they were going to have a conversation about all of this. 

_ But for now,  _ Kady decided, leaning back, I _ am not going to waste this opportunity to see just how flustered I can make Julia, with her name like a bell. _

\--

As Julia talked through Kady’s paperwork, it kept getting harder and harder to keep things completely professional. Kady seemed to have made it her personal mission to turn every goddamn question Julia asked into something sexual. Julia was used to being hit on at work, with the meds people were on and the stress they were under, it was only to be expected.

But this was different. This was the first time Julia imagined actually climbing onto the bed of a patient and shutting her stupid,  _ stupid _ innuendo-filled words up with a kiss.

“You know,” Kady said, thoughtfully, at one point. “We have been talking for a week, but you never did tell me what you thought of my poem.”

Julia blushed, definitely not wanting Kady to know that the poem she spoke of was currently in her jacket pocket in her locker. Julia had kept it near since reading it, but didn’t bring it onto the floor, too scared that somehow it would get ruined by a patient or fall out of her pocket and get tossed into the trash.

“I liked it” Julia admitted, quietly. “A lot.”

Kady smiled, and then softly, as though she couldn't help it, she said the whole thing:

"I saw you and my heart stopped beating in time

with the regular pulse of my well-loved drums

he said your name just now, my dear 

and I love the way Julia tastes on my tongue.."

After a long moment of silence and eye contact Kady cleared her throat. “Not my best work,” she said lightly, “but then again, I only had a couple minutes.”

“Don’t” Julia said. 

“Don’t what?” Kady asked

“Don’t laugh and act like it meant less than it did.” Julia said softly, getting up and walking out of the room

\--

Finally, the paperwork was done. The results were all in, and Kady was ready to go home. Before Julia left, Kady reached out. “Wait,” she said, before she could help herself. “When do you… get off?” she asked with a smile, tilting her head to the side.

Julia sighed, rubbing her temples. “My work shift ends in about thirty minutes, if that is what you mean.” Looking around to be sure the coast was clear she couldn’t help but add “and probably in about an hour and a half, tops, if that isn’t what you meant.” 

Kady let out a laugh, completely shocked, and Julia winked before leaving, glad to have finally said something that made that green eyed girl speechless.

\--

Upon leaving the building forty-five minutes later, Julia wasn’t as surprised as she had thought she would be to see Kady sitting outside the building, waiting for her. Frustrated, since she had spent a solid ten minutes lecturing Kady about getting home and resting and making her friend go fill her prescriptions, but not surprised.

Kady saw her, and tried to wave, wincing as it made her bruised rib ache. 

Julia sighed, and coming up to where Kady was sitting she shook her head. “Wait here,” she said “I’ll go grab my car and then I’ll drive you home.”


	13. Chapter 13

Eliot and Quentin actually did have tea. And then they made out in the kitchen. Again. Eliot had decided that even though this kitchen was a shoebox-sized abomination, at least the counters were at just the right height for him to easily boost Quentin up so that Q could wrap his legs around Eliot’s waist and Eliot’s hands were free to tug not-so-gently on Q’s hair.  _ Hmmmm, yeah, just like that. _

Eliot heard Quentin’s stomach growl and broke away from their kiss with a laugh, but didn’t actually move out of Q’s embrace. “Shit” he said, looking at the clock behind him. “it’s almost one a.m.! When did we have those caramel apples? Like, six hours ago? Seven? Fuck, eight?”

“I’m gonna go with seven,” Q said sheepishly. “I think we got a bit preoccupied and just never ate dinner. I mean, we did have that funnel cake.”

El groaned, burying his face in Quentin’s shoulder. “I was totally gonna take you out for food on our way back from the festival, but I got distracted.”

“To be fair,” Q replied, “I think we both were thinking about other things. We wanted… tea” Quentin finished with a laugh.

“Well,” Eliot said, briskly “nowhere we could possibly want to get food from is going to be open, so I guess I’m going to have to cook.”

Q looked startled “um yeah…. Cook. Like, ah, make food. With ingredients. That I definitely have. Here. In my apartment. Lots of the food ingredients.”

\--

Quentin was starting to feel a little embarrassed. Eliot had moved on from his fridge and the three cupboards that weren’t full of tea to the pantry, and from the muttering coming out, he was pretty sure that nothing in there was up to par, either.

“Okay, so you have three different kinds of chamomile tea, but the only spices you have are garlic salt, onion powder, and _fucking_ _paprika_?!” Eliot said, shaking the red bottle at Q to emphasize his point. “And somehow you have three kinds of dry pasta, but no olive oil? LIke, shit, man, you can’t live like this!”

“Um, Julia is a nurse, and I teach a lot and uh, I eat a lot of canned soups, but I keep them at school” Q tried to explain. 

“That’s it” Eliot announced, closing the pantry door as if he couldn’t look at it another minute. “As much as I love seeing you in nothing but boxers and a shirt, you need to put pants on. We are going out.”

“Um, where exactly are we going?” Quentin asked, while agreeably walking towards his room to grab some pants. “It’s one in the morning, Eliot.”

“I’m certain there is a 24 hour bodega around here somewhere. If we get even some olive oil and ugh,  _ canned _ tomatoes, I can at least make us some spaghetti.”

“Um, yes, but it’s the middle of the night” Q said, shoving some shoes on as Eliot fixed his shirt and vest in the mirror. 

“And?” Eliot asked, “does your 24 hour bodega stop bodega-ing at night?”

“No,” Quentin mumbled, “but the guy who works nights is really goddamn mean.”

“I will be sure to protect you from the mean bodega man” Eliot said reassuringly, ushering Q towards the door and patting him on the head.

“Yeah, you say that now…” Q trailed off, leading Eliot down the block where they could see the neon light shining even from this far away.

\--

Eliot surreptitiously made sure to check the expiration dates on the canned tomatoes and the olive oil.

“Dude,” a voice said from behind the counter. “I can fucking see you, you know that? And it is rude to check the dates.”

Eliot flinched, chagrined, and Quentin just moved to make sure he was still hiding behind the taller man. “Sorry,” he apologized, “can’t be too safe.”

The voice scoffed. “Oh trust me. Everything in this  _ fine _ and  _ delightful  _ establishment is fresh and safe. No danger here.” Suddenly a face peeked out from behind the booth. “Unless you try to steal my uncle’s shit. Then I’ll fuck you up.”

“Hi Penny” Quentin said, ducking out from behind Eliot for a moment.

“Quentin.” Penny flung back. “A fucking pleasure, as always. Please try not to knock anything off the shelves this time, if you can help it.”

“That happened one time.” Q protested in a small voice. “And I paid for all the olive jars I broke…”

Eliot cleared his throat. “Well, it is clear there is some history here, but if it is all the same to you, I would love to purchase these items” he set down his tomatoes and the olive oil with a flourish “so I can go feed this starving man before he keels over and knocks down way more than a jar or two of olives.”

Penny rang the food up with a snort “Yeah, a jar or two. Try the whole damn shelf.”

Eliot shot Q a look, raising his eyebrow, and Quentin just shrugged.

Eliot paid and right before leaving the store he turned back towards Penny, ignoring the way Quentin was tugging at his arm. “It was a delight and a pleasure to meet you, kind sir.” Eliot said dryly, before giving in and letting Q tug him away into the night.

The door closed on the sound of Penny’s laughter.

“I didn’t know he could laugh” Q said, shocked.

“What can I say?” Eliot teased. “Even mean bodega men named after currency are powerless against my charms.”

\--

Quentin didn’t know how Eliot cobbled together a meal this good, but he wasn’t going to question it. To be fair, it was almost two a.m. at this point and Eliot could have handed him a cold can of baked beans and Quentin would have been satisfied, but this was some good shit.

“This is some good shit” Q said.

Eliot smiled, looking up from how own bowl. “Thanks! But at some point I’m making you dinner at my place, where I have more than one spatula, and then you will really be dazzled by my cooking brilliance.”

Quentin laughed. "I'm sure" he said "I guess I can also buy a second spatula."

"Dear god, don't do that" Eliot said "I'll buy you one. That way you don't get it from the Dollar Tree or some shit."

Quentin yawned, finishing his pasta. “Well, I’m ready for bed.” He got up and Eliot stilled for a moment.

Looking back, Q threw what he hoped was a sexy look over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

Eliot sighed in relief, and got up, quickly following Quentin to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt.


	14. Chapter 14

Eliot woke up to the most annoying sound. He was curled around Quentin like the smaller man was his personal teddy bear, and feeling really goddamn fucking annoyed about being awake. Cracking open one eye he saw that it was his phone, which he swore was on do not disturb, which meant it could only be Margo, which meant she had called more than once and ….oh shit.

Eliot sat up quickly, making Quentin grumble and shift next to him. He reached over to grab his phone and quickly answered.

“Hello Bambi” he rattled out, sleep making his voice extra low and gravely. He then winced and held his phone a bit away from his head at the screeching coming through from the other side. 

“Uh huh” he said, and leaning down he planted a gentle kiss on Quentin’s forehead before moving to get up and put some clothes back on over his underwear. Q had just opened his eyes and was yawning and stretching, letting out a dissatisfied groan when Eliot got up from the bed.

“Shit!” El exclaimed, “seriously?!?!?! MARGO YOU ARE THE BEST!!!” He started hopping on one leg trying to pull his pants on with one hand, while holding the phone with the other, which was difficult since Quentin had sat up and was tracing the muscles of his back with a satisfied and sleepy smile. “Bambi,” he said “I’m putting you on speaker so I can get dressed, I’m with Quentin, so behave.”

Setting the phone down on the table he hit the button and Margo’s voice filled the room. “Okay, like I was saying, we can get in because of the last minute cancellation, so get your fuckin’ dick back in your pants and get over there, like, fuckin’ yesterday. Don’t stop for food, I’ll grab you something on the way. Hi Quentin,” she added hastily. “Okay, I gotta go see if Kady is up for it.”

“Why wouldn’t Kady be up for it?” Eliot asked, puzzled. “You got us a last-minute gig at fuckin’ Bacchus, she’s gonna spontaneously orgasm when you tell her.”

“Oh, she got in a fight last night.” Margo said, casually. “Someone was saying shit about Harriet and she lost it. You know our girl. Harry dragged her to an ER and got her sorted, but I wanna be sure she is okay.”

El, who was at this point halfway into his shirt, froze. “Why in the ever loving name of fuck didn’t you tell me last night?! How bad is she hurt?”

“We didn’t tell you because despite your apparent belief to the contrary, you aren’t Kady’s mom” Margo remarked, dryly. “And she seemed fine when I last spoke to her. A cut and a bruised rib cage. So we might have to at least alter the set so she isn’t singing backup as much.”

Eliot breathed a sigh of relief before muttering “obviously her health is the most important, but if this thrice-ass-fucked-no-lube bitch of a situation stops us from being able to perform at fuckin Bacchus, I’m gonna die.”

“Agreed,” Margo replied. “Now let me go check in on Kady. Remember, if I don’t see you at the practice studio in an hour I’ll remove your balls. Love you forever. Oh, and bye silent-Q.”  

In the silence after the phone call Eliot looked at Quentin, adorably sitting in the bed with a slight sleepy frown on his face. “Sorry, Q” he said “I normally wouldn’t do this but…”

“No no no,” Q interrupted, “I totally get it, um, this is like, a huge thing. And ah, I gotta grade papers all day anyways.” He waved at the taller man before reaching to the floor to grab his shirt and shrugging it on.

“Oh” Eliot said, disappointed. “I was kinda hoping you would come tonight.”

Quentin blushed, and smiled. “You aren’t sick of me? I mean, ah, we just spent a lot of time together, for a first date and all…” he trailed off.

Elito snorted, “I bond fast, time is an illusion. I guess I just think performing at Bacchus will be way more epic if you are there to bask in all my glory.”

“I’ll grade papers as fast as I can” Quentin promised.

\--

Quentin was starting to feel bad about how quickly he was going through these papers, but he was only human. Eliot had left hurriedly with a far too short parting kiss and Q had made some toast and started in on the stack of essays he had pretended he didn’t have to grade yesterday so he could enjoy himself with El.

_ Well, they are just in-class essays,  _ he reassured himself.  _ It isn’t like this is their midterm that I’m grading… _

One after the other he ran through them, groaning each time he looked over and saw how many there were still left. 

When he paused to inhale leftover spaghetti for lunch he was scrolling through his insta feed as it was heating up and his heart stuttered a second. El had posted a pic of Quentin to his private account. It made Quentin smile, it was clear in the pic that he had no idea he was being photographed, and Q was pretty sure this was the first picture of him anyone had taken where he didn’t feel like he looked like an idiot. He was intent on taking a picture of the tree he was passing under, and he was loose and confident behind his camera. Checking the caption, he blushed to the tips of his ears. 

< _ bambisidioteliot: Autumn in New York - why does it seem so inviting? _ >

Honestly not surprised that Eliot was a jazz fan, Quentin pulled up Spotify and put Billie Holiday on shuffle as he finished rushing through his grading.

\--

Kady was totally down to play her damn heart out, which was a relief to Alice and Eliot. Margo was also relieved, but she made sure to hide it behind some choice phrases about what she does for the band, and how Kady almost cocked everything up, and next time jesus, call her because Harry is her friend, too…

When El’s phone went off Margo’s glare was the only thing that prevented him from stopping the practice set for a second to check it. But he managed to make it through the song before she nodded once and he dove for the phone. He then laughed. Q had texted.

\--

_ So, are we talking the Billie Holiday take on Autumn, or Ella Fitzgerald/Louis? _

_ Bille, ofc.  _

_ Good. That’s who I had on shuffle as I finished grading my papers ;) _

_ Oh, so you’re done grading your papers, huh? _

_ I am, now, if I only had something to do tonight… _

_ The set starts at 7, but for you the doors open at 5 _

_ Then I’ll be there at 5 _

\--

This time Quentin had done his  _ research _ . He wasn’t going to show up in an outfit completely different than everyone else. Bacchus wasn’t a biker bar like the Roadhouse, but it was definitely not a place where his super comfy sweaters would fit in.

_ Looks like I need to take it back to college, _ Quentin thought. Digging through his closet he pulled out his all-black outfit of choice when he was 19, crossing his fingers that the skinny jeans still fit. He also decided on a messy bun tonight, wanting to be able to concentrate on the music without dealing with his hair falling in his face.  _ If I can even listen to the music with Eliot right fuckin’ there,  _ he thought.  _ Especially now that I know just how good he tastes. And feels when he is pressed up against me… Jesus Christ, why isn’t it closer to 5, yet? _

\--

The whole band couldn’t believe it when they got to the club. They stood outside for a second, just taking it in.

“We. Are. At. Bacchus.” Alice said, awe in her voice. She turned to Margo and just hopped in place a little before kissing her happily. “Margs!!! We are at fuckin’ Bacchus. I’m gonna play my guitar tonight…. At Bacchus.”

Margo smiled contentedly, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend’s waist. “I know, kitty cat. I’m a goddamn king for pulling this together, and you are gonna be fucking brilliant tonight.”

"It makes me remember high school" Alice laughed. 

Margo groaned.  "Oh my god, with those awful fake IDs... What was my name, again?"

"Janet Pluchinsky" Eliot interjected with a snort. "You thought it was the coolest name."

"But hey," Margo said, "if my ID hadn't been that awful we wouldn't have met Fogg when he personally came to kick us out, and tonight might never have happened."

"True," El replied. "But at the same time, if he hadn't kicked us out, it might not have taken this long for him to take us seriously."

"God, I wish I had been here to see that." Kady laughed, and then winced, popping a pain pill. “Fogg’s club. This is crazy.”

Eliot just stared at their poster on the wall. Sure, it was pasted over the band that was supposed to be there that night, but still. They were there, they were going to perform at Bacchus. “Well, children, follow Uncle Eliot on in, let’s get this party started.”

He couldn’t help looking back at the parking lot as he held the door open for his ladies. It was only 3, so there was no way Q would be there yet, but he still scanned the area, wishing for a certain nerd in a knit sweater to show up. 

\--

Fucking  _ finally _ Quentin was on the bus on his way to the show. Julia was still dead on her feet after her unexpected double at work, so she had basically came into the apartment comatose and zombie walked straight to her room with a mumbled “long fuckin night, Q. Long fuckin’ night.” Q wisely didn’t mention that she was over two hours late and her scrub top was on inside out. Or that she had lipstick smudges on her neck in several places.

_Another time_ , he thought to himself, _but she definitely has to spill._ Getting off the bus he started the two block walk to Bacchus.

He got to the club early, and just sat outside waiting until at least 4:50 to go in. Then the door opened and Eliot walked out, a cigarette between his lips. He was wearing his show outfit, and Q lost both the ability to breathe and speak at the sight. He had forgotten about El’s propensity to just wear vests and necklaces but no shirt. Reaching into his messenger bag he grabbed his zippo out. “Care for a light?” he said, hoping to God it came out sexy and not pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Eliot quoted on Insta and Q listened to is here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO2Ij1eO-GQ


	15. Chapter 15

“Care for a light?” Eliot heard, and he turned, smiling. He knew that voice. Sure enough, Quentin was sitting on the bench outside the club, wearing all black and holding out a lighter. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Eliot said, coming to the bench and sitting as close to Q as he could without being in the man’s lap. He leaned in close as Quentin swallowed and flicked his zippo with a shaking hand.

_ This is the first time he’s seen me in full-on Rocker mode, _ El realized, almost giddy with the knowledge, glad he already had done his eye liner. Eliot stretched and lounged back across the bench, smoking, his vest opening and his necklaces flashing in the light. He heard Quentin audibly suck in a strangled breath.  _ Tonight is gonna be fun.  _ El thought to himself, closing his eyes and taking a purposefully aesthetic drag from his cigarette. But he lazily looked over when he was pretty sure he heard a shutter going off. 

“Excuse me?” Eliot drawled, when he caught Q red handed, camera still in hand.

Quentin shrugged, setting his camera back down. “If you sit there looking like that, I’m going to have to take a picture of it.”

\--

Quentin had thought the first night he saw Eliot that the musician was drop dead gorgeous, but now he realized that apparently every time he saw Eliot the man was more and more beautiful.  _ Beautiful,  _ Quentin thought. _ Hot. Sexy. Handsome. Fucking Angelic. Godlike. All those words and more. _ But Quentin had decided that he was especially fond of this particular clothing combination. He got a mental image of taking off the taller man’s vest… and belt… and pants… until Eliot was standing before him in nothing but those necklaces. Thought about the way they would dangle if Eliot were crouched over him, and he could reach up, tangling his hand in them and tugging the man down closer…

\--

“Quentin!” Eliot said, snapping his fingers. “You with me?”

Q shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry, long day.”

“Tell me about it,” Eliot sighed, finishing off his cigarette. “I’m fucking thrilled to be at Bacchus, but I’m riding a very precise combination of weed and caffeine right now, and I think it is nearing the time where I will need more of at least one or the other.” Eliot yawned, and stood, walking towards the door. “Coming?” he asked, looking back at where Quentin was still sitting.

“That depends,” Q said. “Do they have coffee?”

Eliot snorted. “Quentin, this is Bacchus. They have everything your heart could desire. Coffee, cakes, condoms… Me.” El winked and ducked inside, holding the door open for Q, who shoved his camera and lighter into his bag and scrambled up, following Eliot inside.

\--

Fogg was waiting by the bar, lounging on a stool, arms crossed. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were taking a cigarette break or you broke under the pressure of performing somewhere that didn’t stink like stale beer and fled” he said caustically. Then, looking behind Eliot the man saw Quentin. Fogg stood and straightened his suit sleeves, cracking his knuckles. “Who is this? The doors don’t open until 6 and we don’t take kindly to crazy fans sneaking about.” 

“No, uh, I’m with El… Eliot. Or, ah, the band. Yeah, the whole band” Quentin said, realizing that every word he said made him sound more and more like a crazy fan. “I promise I’m normal. Not sneaking in early, nope not doing that” Quentin finished, ducking behind Eliot. 

“I’ve heard that before.” Fogg said, getting closer. “Don’t try and hide behind the talent. I know what I’m about, son. I was the bouncer before I bought the place and I  _ will _ forcibly remove you if I have to.”

“Woah woah woah,” Eliot said, placatingly. “This isn’t a weird fan, I promise. Not like Poppy. This is my…. Quentin.” Eliot reached behind himself and grabbed Q’s arm, tugging him forward. “This is Quentin.” 

“Your… Quentin.” Fogg said, eyebrow raised. “Fine.” Going back to the bar, Fogg grabbed a crystal glass out that was half-full of some type of alcohol. “Welcome to Bacchus, Eliot’s Quentin. If you try and swipe a drink without paying it will be the last thing you do.”

“Thank you” Quentin squeaked. “And, ah, I would never. But I was kinda hoping I could buy a coffee?” 

Fogg laughed. “Sure. You are in New York’s premier den of iniquity, music and sin and you want a coffee. Why the fuck not?”

“I’m a teacher” Quentin explained. “I can’t go too crazy on a Sunday night, hangovers are a bitch.”

“Fair.” Fogg said. “Eliot, Margo was looking for you.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Eliot said, scanning the room for the brunette. “Shit, I think she’s already in the dressing room. Q?” Eliot paused, looking at Quentin, “you okay for a bit? I need to go see what Bambi needs and then I swear we’ll be back out setting up.”

“Yeah yeah,” Quentin said as Fogg went behind the bar. “I’ll, ah, be here.”

“Don’t worry about your Quentin” Fogg said, firmly. “Worry about being late to see what Margo wants from you.”

Eliot grinned sheepishly and quickly walked away.

\--

“Poppy, huh?” Quentin ventured to ask once Eliot was out of ear shot.

“Yeah,” Fogg said, passing Quentin a cup of coffee gruffly. “She hasn’t shown up at Bacchus yet, but she is obsessed with the band. She saw Eliot perform in his snakeskin jacket downtown a while back and decided he would be the perfect person to act out some lizard dragon erotica with her. Waited in his changing room and jumped him when he came in after the set. It was a good thing the wife and I were at the show, I managed to bustle her out pretty quickly and no one got hurt.”

Quentin coughed on his coffee. “Holy shit.” He said, connecting dots in his mind, color draining from his face. “Does she have red hair?”

“Yeah,” Fogg said, looking at Quentin curiously.

“Voice like a pixie came to life, but in a super annoying way?” Q asked, rubbing his neck with his hand. Fogg nodded and Q groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Please tell me you aren’t talking about Poppy Kline.”

“Okay,” Fogg said, firmly. “I am going to need to know right now how you know that girl.”

Quentin just moaned without lifting his head. “Trust me, I wish I didn’t. She’s my ex. My crazy stalker ex I had to get a restraining order against. Who knows all about my favorite local band. And has a thing for reptiles.”


	16. Chapter 16

The show was fucking amazing. Quentin was starting to think that every show he went to was better than the one before simply because each show increased the level of Eliot he had been exposed to. And this exposure? Sweet fucking Christ, it almost reached critical level. Seeing Eliot on stage and knowing that everyone around him was also seeing this work of art with a voice like an angel, Quentin figured some people would be jealous, but he was just really goddamn proud. Because Eliot had asked for _him_ to be here.

Under the stage lights El was starting to shimmer with sweat and since Quentin was right at the front of the crowd he could see how El’s hair was getting even curlier from the steam, and reminded himself that they were in public and it would be completely unprofessional for him to jump up on the stage and lick the sweat from Eliot’s stomach. El looked at him and winked before running his hand erotically down his chest as he rasped out lyrics. _Either my face is really transparent and he knows that I want to jump him more than anything,_ Quentin thought, _or he is just trying to murder me through sexiness._ Q decided he was cool with either of those choices.

\--

 _I wonder if Quentin knows just how transparently his face broadcasts his thoughts?_ Eliot wondered. Then, winking, he decided to see just how aroused he could get the kid. _I mean, I have to get asked back to Bacchus,_ he reasoned, _and the best way to do so is to bring the house down. And if I’m seducing Quentin from the stage, by extension I’m seducing the crowd. Win-win._ And he knew the next song would be perfect for this moment. Sure, it was a cover, but it was a cover that had more views on youtube than their most popular music video. Especially when Eliot changed a couple choice pronouns.

\--

“For the next song we are gonna take it back to our roots.” Eliot said into the microphone, moving closer to his keyboard. “Our _killer_ roots.” Alice grinned and started the guitar intro, and the crowd went wild. El laughed and started to sing as Kady picked it up on the drums.

 

_Coming out of my cage_

_And I've been doing just fine_

_Gotta gotta be down_

_Because I want it all_

_It started out with a kiss_

_How did it end up like this?_

_It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_

 

He looked at Quentin directly, singing to only him in the room full of people. _It was only a kiss._ Eliot knew his moves and act with this cover were hot, and Quentin was staring, open-mouthed, unconsciously moving his head in time to the music, utterly transfixed.

 

_Now I'm falling asleep_

_And he's calling a cab_

_While she's having a smoke_

_And he's taking a drag_

_Now they're going to bed_

_And my stomach is sick_

_And it's all in my head_

_But she's touching his chest now_

_He takes off her dress now_

_Let me go_

_And I just can't look, it's killing me_

_And taking control_

 

Eliot scanned the crowd, and waved for them to join Kady, Alice and him in singing the chorus, encouraging them to jump in time to the beat. Kady was killing the drums and Alice and Eliot faced off, singing into two sides of the same microphone and smiling crazily at each other, lost in the moment. Remembering the first time they performed this song, at their local Pride festival back in the day.El was wild on the keyboard while scanning the room. Quentin was dancing in the front row, he had taken his hair out of the delightful bun it was in, and was headbanging and singing at the top of his lungs. Eliot couldn’t stop from laughing as he launched into the next part, cupping the microphone with one hand.

 

_I'm coming out of my cage_

_And I've been doing just fine_

_Gotta gotta be down_

_Because I want it all_

_It started out with a kiss_

_How did it end up like this?_

 

He held the microphone out to the crowd, and they shouted back at him:

 

_It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_

 

The sight pause, then Eliot launched into the next part.

 

_Now I'm falling asleep_

_And he's calling a cab_

_While she's having a smoke_

_And he's taking a drag_

 

The song went on. Then the moment happened. The one that happened at every great gig, where the entire crowd and the band merged into love for music, transcending the space and just existing in the fucking joy. Everyone singing together, feeling the sound lift them higher. Better than any drug.

 

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea_

_Swimming through sick lullabies_

_Choking on your alibi_

_But it's just the price I pay_

_Destiny is calling me_

_Open up my eager eyes_

_'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside_

 

El closed his eyes, enjoying it, and finished the song out like that, just feeling the whole room exist with him in the beautiful music.

\--

Quentin didn’t want to leave the front of the stage, especially after the memories that song brought up, but he was fucking starving, having forgotten to eat in his nervousness, and he swore he could smell mozzarella sticks. Slowly he moved back towards the bar. El frowned at him when Q glanced back at the stage, so Quentin mimed rubbing is stomach and El nodded, carrying on with the song. Q felt warm from the fact that even with everything going on Eliot was aware enough of him to miss his presence at the front of the stage, and he smiled as he got closer to his destination. Then, when he was almost to the counter, the smile died on his lips.

Sitting at the bar, staring at him, was a certain redhead with a voice like an annoying pixie. _How the fucking fuck did Poppy get in here?_ Q wondered, _I thought Fogg barred her. I would have left as soon as he said she might show up if I wasn't sure he barred her._ He scanned the club trying to find Fogg or Margo, fucking _anyone_ but him would much better equipped to remove the psycho chick from the building. He could already feel the shaking starting.

Fogg finally noticed him, and was clearly alerted that something was wrong based on Quentin’s clearly freaked out face. Q pointed at Poppy, and Fogg looked over, and then frowned. Adjusting his suit, he started striding towards the redhead who saw the exchange and jumped up. She started making her way towards the door. _Thank fuck,_ Q thought, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to deal with the situation any further.

But then Poppy stilled, and looked him dead in the eye. “One hundred and seventeen days, Quentin.” She said, and laughed, ducking out the door just as Fogg was nearing her.

Q’s heart stopped, doing some quick math. That’s the date the restraining order expired. _She’s still keeping count,_ Quentin thought, miserable, sensing the panic attack really starting. He redirected from the bar to the bathroom, super fucking glad that by some goddamn miracle there wasn’t a line. Grabbing his phone with shaking hands Quentin dialed Julia, hoping to every deity he had ever heard of that she was awake and available. He locked himself in a stall and just pressed his back against the door.

\--

 _Please be up, please be up, please be up…._ Q prayed. Then the ringing stopped and he heard the sleepy voice of the only person who would understand what was happening on the other side of the line.

Just like she always did, Julia knew before he spoke that something had gone to shit. “Quentin, what’s wrong? Talk to me”

 _Thank fuck,_ Q thought, tearing up.

“Jules,” He bit out, voice tight and breath shaky. “It was Poppy. I, ah, fuck, Jules.” Q tried to say more words, but found he was unable to get anything out except two more “Poppy... Here.” And he started to hyperventilate and cry, collapsing down to the floor, the panic attack fully setting in.

\--

Julia had woken up about five minutes earlier, and was still in bed when her phone rang. She knew instantly that something was wrong and bolted out of bed to where she had her cell charging on the bookshelf.

Seeing it was Quentin, she answered, tone urgent. “Quentin, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” She said, putting the phone on speaker to tug on pants and a shirt.

“Jules,” she heard, and her heart dropped. She hadn’t heard him sound this bad since.. “It was Poppy.” Q said. _Shit,_ Julia thought, running to the bathroom and grabbing Q’s anxiety meds before dashing to the kitchen to grab her keys.

“I, ah, fuck, Jules." Quentin sounded in pain. "Poppy... Here.”

“Okay,” she said, voice soothing. “ First, are you safe?”

“Yeah,” Quentin bit out. “Bathroom stall. Door's locked.”

“Good,” Julia said, shrugging on her jacket and hastily exiting their building. “That’s good. Do you have your bag?” She followed up, keeping her voice even as she unlocked the car and got in.

“Shit, fuck, Jules, I don’t, ah, I don’t know…” Q said, looking around and seeing that yes, his bag was on the floor next to him. “Yeah” he said, “it’s here.”

Julia felt some of the anxiety clutching her chest lessen. “Okay.” She said, “that’s so good! So if you need it, you have your fast release Valium.”

Q fumbled around before grabbing the bottle, happy that he remembered to bring it, hoping he didn’t need it, hating that he thought he might.

It was like Julia could hear his thought process. “Quentin Coldwater” she said, soft but firm, heavily laying on her nurse voice “you don’t give a diabetic crap for needing insulin when their sugars get fucked. If you need your meds because you were exposed to a massive trigger, then you need them. That’s why you have them.”

“Okay, Jules” Q said, knowing it was the truth. She heard Q’s shaky breath in, and then the sound of the bottle opening.

“Okay,” she said. “Can you tell me where you are? I’m in the car and I’ll come.”

Quentin groaned, tilting his head back, “I don’t remember the name,” he said, taking in a shaky breath. “I, ah, my brain isn’t working all that great.”

“Okay,” Julia said, opening her phone and clicking into Find My Friends. “Looks like you are… At a club?” She prompted. “Named, ah, Bacchus?”

Q sighed, “yes,” he said, relieved. “That’s it. I’m at Bacchus. El is playing.”

“Okay,” Julia said, typing in the address. “I’m on my way, looks like it will be about 20 minutes if I take the freeway.”

“Thank you” Q said, voice shaking. “I’m sorry, I just, ah, I didn’t think I would see her.”

"Totally fair" Julia said, being sure to validate his emotions. "It's been months since she last tried to get in your space."

His breathing started to get faster again and so Julia decided to turn to distraction.

“You know that girl, Kady?” She asked “Um, last night she came to my ER.”

Quentin was super fucking grateful for something else to talk about. He took in a breath. “Oh really? Tell me more” he said.

“Well, I took care of her, and then, after work, she took care of me, if you know what I mean.” Julia said, before filling Quentin in on all the details (well, not all of them) as she navigated to the freeway, trying not to think about how under-dressed she was, and to just concentrate on getting to her friend. But then she hit the freeway and had to hang up to give her full attention to the crazy traffic. “I’ll be there in seven minutes, Quentin” she said. “I promise.”

\--

Julia got there and grabbed a twenty out of her wallet before jumping out of the car, hoping it was enough for the cover charge. But she got to the door and a gruff man in an impeccable suit was standing there. “Julia?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes.” Julia said, puzzled, but holding out her cash. He shook his head and firmly guided her inside.

“I’m Fogg.” He said, ushering her towards the bathroom. “This is my club. I went to check on young Quentin when I saw him go in the bathroom but not come out” he explained. “He said through the door that Julia was coming. Said it several times, in fact.”

Julia smiled sadly, glad that someone had checked up on her friend, but wishing he hadn’t been triggered like that. Then they were at the bathroom doors.

Fogg coughed, “I’ll keep others out for now.” He said. “But I can only do it for about ten minutes before my club's service starts to look bad, so try to help him quickly, if you can.”

“Thank you” Julia said. “And thanks for meeting me, tho I don’t know how you knew I was me.”

“That’s easy,” Fogg said briskly, opening the door for her and getting ready to stand guard and direct traffic to the other restrooms. “You looked how I felt when that red headed bitch first tried to fuck with my family.”

\--

“Q?” Julia said, softly, entering the bathroom.

Quentin was really relieved to hear her voice. “In here” he called, moving to press his back against the wall instead of the door, and unclicking the lock.  
Julia was standing there, looking concerned and relieved in equal parts. She sat on the floor by him, and he laid his head on her shoulder and cried.

“It’s okay,” Julia said, soothingly, running her fingers through his hair. “I promise, it will be okay.”

Julia held him for several minutes, and then his meds kicked in and he slowly stopped shaking.

He said something, but it was muffled by her shirt.

“Huh?” Julia said, looking at him.

Quentin sighed and pulled back, sitting and tugging his hair back into a bun and out of his face. “I said thank fuck for Julia and Valium” he said, doing his best to sound light hearted.

“Q?” Julia asked.

“Yeah?” Q replied.

“Can we get up off of the floor now, maybe?” She prodded gently.

“Yeah,” Quentin said, wiping his eyes and standing, holding a hand out for her.

“Good.” Julia said. “And can we leave the men’s restroom?”

Q looked panicked so Julia backtracked a bit.

“It’s okay! We’re just not there yet” she said. ‘But soon, okay?” She grabbed out her phone and set a timer. “What seems like an okay amount of time for us to wait before we leave.”

Quentin thought, rubbing the back of his neck. “Two minutes.” He decided.

“Sounds good” Julia said, setting the timer to go off with a very gentle vibration. “Then what should we do? When we leave?” She was careful to let Q make the decisions, and just be there, as his therapist had recommended.

“Um, maybe we go out for a smoke?” Q asked, seeking her approval.

“That sounds great!” Julia said.

They stood there silently, leaning against the sink as Quentin collected himself. Julia turned to look in the mirror and did her best to fix her hair, but decided there wasn’t much that could be done. Glancing down she saw that she was wearing two completely different slippers, one was hers and the other Quentin’s.  _Could be worse_ , she thought, shrugging.  _At least I'm wearing shoes. And pants. And a bra._

The timer went off and they left the bathroom, Fogg still standing outside and just gruffly nodded at them before walking off. They went out the door, Julia going first and declaring the area red-head-bitch-free.

\--

Outside Q lit a cigarette shakily. “So” he said. “Kady, huh?”

Julia smiled, releasing a puff of smoke. “Yeah.” She replied. “She gets me.”

“Does she get you, or does she get you off?” Quentin asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Julia just smiled, not ready to talk more about it yet.

\--

Quentin felt better after his meds and his cigarette and being around Julia. He was anxiously scanning the parking lot worried that Poppy would show up, but he was able to rationalize that she wouldn’t be there. She knew he would call the police, and she wasn’t usually one to press her luck. Which is why her being there was such a shock. After seven months he had thought he was safe, even after Fogg mentioned her fascination with Eliot.  _Won't make that mistake again_ , he thought, grim.

“Well,” Julia said, brightly, after finishing her cigarette. “What now?”

“I, ah, I don’t think I can go back in.” Quentin admitted. “I want to see El finish his set, but um, there’s too many people. And I’m still too triggered.”

“Totally fair!” Julia said. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“So we can just go home?” Quentin asked, shoulders scrunched. He shot a text off to El telling him he had to leave but would explain more later.

“Of course we can, Q.” Julia replied, as they walked to the car.

“And stop on the way home for food?” he asked, perking up slightly.

“Well, duh.” Julia replied lightly. “That’s the cardinal rule, remember? Like Grams always says-”

“When your day is shit, your food shouldn’t be.” Quentin and Julia said in unison.

Julie put on some classical music and started to back out of her parking space. “Chinese?” she asked when they were pulled out on the road.

“Yeah,” Quentin said, closing his eyes and resting his head back against his seat, exhausted. “Chinese.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, beautiful readers! If you have read some of my other work, you had to know some angst was coming. But I promise not to go too hard at it. I based Q's panic attack and Julia being an awesome friend off of my own personal experience, so please be gentle if you don't like how I wrote it, lol. I'm legit just using personal experience.


	17. Chapter 17

El finished the show without seeing Quentin again, and it made him frown.  _ I hope everything is okay,  _ Eliot thought.  _ I can’t imagine Q just leaving for no good reason.  _ He tried to shrug it off and still do his best. This was a once in a lifetime chance to show Fogg that they weren’t a bunch of kids anymore, and that they took their music seriously. All four of them had talked (El, Kady, Alice and Margo) and they were determined to get an official concert on the books at Bacchus before they left for the night, not just as a last minute replacement for a different band when their lead singer bailed.

The club was packed, and about twenty minutes to the end of their set Eliot saw Fogg go up and talk to Margo, and he wasn’t a praying man, but he sent up some thoughts in the general direction he assumes Zeus or whoever lived in and wished for the best. 

They got the fucking gig. It was five months out because Bacchus was popular and booked until then, but they still got the gig. Margo told them the minute they walked off stage and Alice and Eliot screeched and all three hugged each other, while Kady hissed at them to at least try to be professional until they made it to the dressing room. But then they just screeched and reached for her, so she laughed and joined in the hug, and soon all four of them were laughing and walking back to the room to celebrate.

\--

_ Had to leave. Sorry I missed the end of your set. Talk more soon. _

Eliot read the text for the fifth time, still confused. It didn’t sound like Quentin at all. It was abrupt and didn’t have a single exclamation point. This proved it, something went down while he was on stage. 

Turning to Margo Eliot asked “So, what all did I miss while I was up there earning us a coveted gig at Bacchus?”

Margo, who had been kissing along the side of Alice’s neck while the blonde took off her makeup, turned to him. “Hmmmm?” She asked, then thought a sec and replayed what he just said. “Oh, Fogg said your stalker showed up.”

“Shit!” Eliot said, “Really? I was hoping she was a one and done deal. She hasn’t tried to get into any more of our gigs since he kicked her out that first time.”

“Yeah, apparently she showed up and screeched something at your lover boy and then bolted before Fogg got to her,” Margo said, frowning. “Fogg didn’t want to talk to me any more about it, which as your official manager I find very rude, so you should probably check in with him before we leave.” 

Alice wrinkled her nose. “I am pretty sure Fogg still sees you as a drunk teenager he had to carry from the building who kept shouting ‘My name is Janet Pluchinsky and all you bitches will rue the day you removed me from this club’.”

“And who then barfed down the back of his suit.” Eliot added helpfully, but distractedly, as he got up to go talk to the former bouncer about what all went down while he was onstage.

\--

Fogg filled him in on some details. Apparently Q had a restraining order against Poppy and had happily pulled a copy out of his messenger bag for Fogg to look over, because Fogg said it helped establish precedent and would help him be able to escort her out a lot faster if she did show up.

“But really I’m just a common bitch who lives for drama,” Fogg admitted, “and I could tell there was a lot of drama there.” Eliot could tell he was gearing up to fill him in on all the details so he held up a hand.

“I feel like we should stop here,” El said, somewhat reluctantly. He wanted to know more, but felt like it was a conversation Quentin and him should have, not one that should be drunkenly said across a bar by Fogg at 3 in the morning. “I’m sure Quentin will tell me more when and if he feels comfortable.” 

Fogg hummed and stared into his crystal glass, before downing the rest of his drink. “Fine, I won’t tell you all about how she made him so upset he locked himself in a bathroom stall with a panic attack and his small little button of a friend had to come _ from across town  _ to get him out.”

El winced, really fucking upset that Quentin had gone through something like that at one of his gigs. One that El specifically asked him to come to, on top of everything. “Trust me” Eliot said, “I really really want to know. But if all that shit with Mike taught me anything, it is that relationships or whatever have to be built on truth, respect, and trust.” 

El sighed, standing and leaving Fogg to his alcohol, going to help Kady pack up the van.

Eliot shot off a text to Q, trying to make sure that it would let Quentin know he shouldn’t feel bad:  _ No problem! Hope everything is okay, see you this week sometime? _

\--

Q was in bed, trying to sleep when his phone pinged. 

_ No problem! Hope everything is okay, see you this week sometime? _

The tension he didn’t know he was holding in his chest relaxed, and he let out a deep breath. Eliot didn’t hate him for leaving. El still wanted to see him. Eliot was kind and nice. Eliot wasn’t Poppy. Poppy didn’t control him anymore. Poppy didn’t know where he lived. Quentin went through all the types of sentences he and his therapist had come up with, adapting them to include the singer he was quickly falling for, and fell asleep holding his phone in his hand, smiling.

\--

Julia checked in on Q one more time before she went to sleep herself, making sure he was out and not too lost in his head to sleep. The smile he was wearing was beautiful, and not for the first time, Julia cursed the name Poppy Kline. She could remember asking her grandmother to help her take down the bitch, but Grams knew best, and she swore up and down that the redhead was going to get what was coming to her without any extra help.

\--

On Monday afternoon they set up some plans. Eliot was going to pick Q up after his last class of the day on Wednesday. They were gonna go to El’s apartment, and he was going to cook for his nerd. Of course Eliot wasn’t nervous, but he wasn’t  _ not _ nervous either.

\--

_ Tea!!!!  _ Eliot thought on Tuesday afternoon, after having cleaned his entire apartment. Something wasn’t quite right, and he didn’t know what until he realized he didn’t have a single goddamn box of tea in the entire place.  _ Quentin is going to think I’m a fucking caveman,  _ El realized, and quickly drove to the nearest superstore. Which is how he ended up here. In the tea aisle. Standing before what had to be at least seventy five thousand fucking types of tea.

He already had a kettle in his cart, but the amount of tea choices before him was astounding. It really did help him understand how Quentin and Julia had so many kinds at their place. Like, how the fuck did you know which brand of chamomile to get? There were five. No, seven.  _ Seven fucking brands of chamomile? _ Eliot started to panic and grab a box of each brand and kind of tea and pile it into his cart. He had at least twenty different boxes in it when he heard a voice behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” 

Eliot turned and the mean bodega man Penny was standing there. “Hi.” Eliot said. 

“Hi” Penny replied. “Great to see you, all that shit. What the fuck are you doing with” Penny paused to count silently, “four different brands of oolong in your cart?”

Eliot sighed. “Quentin is coming over tomorrow,” he explained.

“Uh huh,” Penny said. 

“And I don’t have any tea.” El finished.

“Oooooh, I get you.” Penny said, nodding. “That boy would die without his jasper mint mild caf tea.” Penny reached out and grabbed a green box down off the shelf and put it in Eliot’s cart, before sorting through the mound of boxes El had and putting all of them but two back on the shelf. “My uncle stocks four kinds of tea legit just for that fucker,” Penny said. “And the kinds change based on the season.”

“So, thank you for your help…” Eliot started saying, an eyebrow raised.

“But why am I here and why did I talk to you and why am I actually helping?” Penny finished for him.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Eliot admitted.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I spoke to you.” Penny said. “You looked like you were about to buy out this store’s entire fucking tea inventory. I think I felt bad for you. And your wallet. Tea isn’t that cheap.”

For the first time, Eliot looked at the price tags and winced. “Well, I’m glad, you just saved me from buying enough tea to pay for an island. But really,” El asked, glancing around at the sterile and bright white bulbs of the megastore. “Why are you here?”

Penny snorted. “Actually look at me, and then ask that again.” He said.

When Eliot took the man in he saw, to his chagrin, that Penny was wearing the uniform of an employee, and even had a nametag, though it said ‘William’ on it.

“I thought…. Bodega?” Eliot said, confused.

“I’m covering for a friend.” Penny said. “I pick up odd shifts here and there. Don’t tell my uncle.”

“Why on God’s green earth would I tell your uncle?” Eliot asked, mystified. 

“I don’t know,” Penny said, adjusting the tea so it was perfectly centered on the shelf. “But just don’t.”

“Won’t you get bitched at for not encouraging me to buy all the teas?” Eliot had to ask, wondering.

“Dude.” Penny said, rolling his eyes. “Accept my help and go the fuck away now.”

Looking in his cart, Eliot recognized all four boxes of tea from ones he had seen at Quentin’s home, and he breathed out a relieved sigh. “Thanks for your help, William.” Eliot said, grinning. “I’m going the fuck away now.”

\--

Quentin didn’t have the time Wednesday morning to be nervous about how he looked. Even if he was going right from class to Eliot’s apartment. He was always tired when he had morning classes, so he basically got up, showered, shoved on clothes and ate toast as he ran to grab the bus to school. Because it was a weekday he not only had his messenger bag, but also his ‘mary poppins purse of teaching plenty’ as Julia called his rolling suitcase. But he had a lot of visual aids in his class, and his students liked to be as hands-on as they could, and when you teach high school english in the inner city, you need props. His suitcase was always full of hats and fake flowers, and googly eye glasses. Shit you could get at the dollar tree, but when he broke it out, no one in the room could resist at least wearing a cheap fake moustache as they read aloud.

Quentin was an amazing teacher. He truly loved reading and writing and it spilled over into the classroom like magic, making the students love it, too. Love him, too. Of course Q didn’t see that, he didn’t see the difference he made in their lives, because he was just bumbling along doing his best. Q was great at teaching, a natural, and exceptionally gifted in seeing the potential locked in each student and pushing them to do their best. 

Many a student, both boy and girl, had a crush on Quentin, but they never said anything. And Q went on, oblivious, happily babbling about the impact of reading on the structure of society as we know it, never noticing the enamored sighs and giggles of his ‘kiddos’, as he called them. 

\--

Eliot was so nervous about being late to pick up Quentin that he ended up at the school almost an hour early. _ Is it more pathetic if I sit here in my car and stare at the building, _ he wondered,  _ or if I get out and try to go in and find Q? _ After waiting a solid 15 minutes and getting bored out of his goddamn brain, Eliot decided to chance trying to go in.

It took him a good five minutes to convince the lady in charge of buzzing him in the front door that he really did know Quentin Coldwater, and he wasn’t a creepy guy intent on vandalizing the building or canoodling with a student. But he finally got past her into the school, and he shuddered at the memories of youth it brought up as he followed her directions to Room 110C - 12th Grade AP English. 

He finally found the room and looked through the window in the door, smiling. Eliot grabbed out his phone and made sure the flash was off and snapped a few pictures before realizing he probably looked like a grade A creep and shoving his phone back in his pocket. But Quentin had a giant floppy hat on, and he was apparently declaiming some scene of a play, and Eliot had never, in his whole entire goddamn life, seen anything as adorable. But then he looked at the students and frowned. It was clear that at least five of them also thought it was completely adorable. Which was fair, but also, El had a moment of  _ no. My nerd. _

But then some of them looked out the window at him, and Eliot froze. Before deciding “fuck it” and making faces at them through the glass.  _ Not like I’ll ever see them again, _ he figured. He opened the door slowly and quietly, and started miming Quentin’s motions exaggeratedly, not really listening to what Q was saying, but loving the sound his voice made.

\--

A couple of his kiddos started to giggle, and Quentin didn’t know why. He was giving his oration his all, and normally this was the part where the students were open mouthed and breathlessly engaged, but then he saw that they weren’t looking at him, they were looking past him, and Q turned around, and then blushed from the top of his head all the way down. Eliot was  _ not  _ supposed to see him like this. Knowing it was too late, Quentin decided to run with it. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Waugh. So lovely of you to join us. Though, you are late.” Q said, before handing Eliot a copy of, jesus fuck, Wuthering Heights. It was well-loved, and open to a highlighted passage. Quentin handed Eliot a fake moustache, which Eliot applied with aplomb, and asked him to read, telling his students to pay attention to the words, as they would spend the remaining 15 minutes of class discussing their thoughts on Heathcliff and the love he felt for Catherine even after she chose another.

“Two words would comprehend my future—death and hell: existence, after losing her, would be hell.” Eliot said, as he started to really get into it, remembering the book from his own high school experience. “Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she valued Edgar Linton's attachment more than mine.” El stormed over to the window, book clenched in his fist. “If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.” Eliot finished, giving the performance his all.

Quentin clapped, and the rest of the class did, too. “Thank you, Mr. Waugh,” Quentin said, “now please go sit at the desk while I finish out our class discussion.”

Eliot smiled, liking the confidence Q apparently had while in the classroom, and sat down, ready to watch Quentin teach. 

\--

Quentin firmly shut the knowledge that Eliot was sitting right behind him out of his mind. Or rather, he tried to. And failed. But he did his best, and started several small group discussions about the difference between love and obsession, passion and mania. He went from group to group, listening, giving gentle feedback, and just let his students say what they thought without judgement. They came together for the last five minutes of class, each group sharing their thoughts.

“I am so glad we have this discussion started!” Q said, brightly. “Since this is the topic of our next paper!” The class let out a collective groan. “Hey now,” Quentin said, “I’ve been telling you this for months. I literally wrote it out on the chalkboard." Quentin gestured behind himself, not trusting himself to turn and point, because then he would be looking at Eliot, _who was not sitting right there, no sirree._

“Yeah,” one student, Luna, said. “But we were hoping you’d forget. Or grant us mercy.”

Quentin laughed. “Mercy is for the weak, and I believe in each of you.”

The bell rang and Q called out a reminder that the outline for their paper would be due next Monday, and to not forget to turn in their in-class notes so he could comment on them and get them back out to the class before the weekend.

\--

Eliot was entranced. Students lingered after the bell, and Quentin took the time to talk to each of them. It reminded Eliot of Bigby, in a weird way. The music teacher he and Alice shared, who always made sure to ask how their day was, and who really cared about the answer. She was the first person who believed in him, and Eliot knew he wouldn’t be the musician he was without her. He looked around the class, gaze constantly drawn back to Quentin, and wondered just how many future teachers and writers were in the room, and if Q had any clue as to how powerful and positive his actions were to them. 

He was staring at Q tuck his hair back behind his ears and remembering the feeling of it in his fist when someone cleared their throat. Looking up, El saw it was the student who had asked for mercy from their next paper.

“Excuse me, Mr. Waugh” Luna said, and Eliot looked at her. Q turned from where he was standing at the door, the last student besides her now leaving, and looked, too. The student held out her notebook. “I super fucking love your band. Can I have your autograph?” she asked, blushing. 

El laughed. “I don’t really do that,” he admitted. “Feels too weird. But I’ll draw you a doodle.” Luna smiled, and Eliot drew a stick person saying hello on her notebook. She then grabbed the book and ran out of the room.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Quentin said, in the quiet of the room. He turned and started shoving stuff into his bag.

“Which part?” Eliot teased. “Reading out loud or drawing a stick person? Because you didn’t seem to really give me much choice when you decided I was going to declaim Heathcliff. I thought we talked about this, _you_ like to read out loud, not _me_.”

Quentin blushed. “Don't act like you didn't like it." He said. "You commanded the whole room and you know it. Just, I had to take the power back,” he explained. “It’s a whole thing. If you had kept teasing, most of the class wouldn’t have cared, but there’s a couple students who might have thought that meant they could be more teasing.” He had finished packing and he turned to face Eliot. “Ready to go?”

“Dear God, yes.” Eliot said, grabbing the stack of folders from Quentin’s hands and fake shuddering. “This building gives me way too many flashbacks to high school.”

“I would have thought you were a private school person,” Quentin mused, leading Eliot down the hall and out of the building.

“You’d be right,” Eliot admitted. “But all schools feel the same in spirit, and there’s a reason I stopped college after I got my bachelors degree….”

Quentin laughed as they reached the bottom of the steps. “I am really goddamn hungry," Q said. “So please tell me where you parked and go make me delicious things to eat.”

“Your wish is my command,” Eliot said, placing his free hand on the small of Quentin’s back and gently steering him towards where his car was. “You do like raw salmon, right?” he asked.

Quentin froze, wondering how to say that he hated sushi with a passion when it was this close to dinner time, and Eliot snorted.

“Breathe, Q” he said, popping the trunk of his car so Quentin could put his suitcase in. Trying not to wonder why the fuck Quentin had a suitcase with. “I’m teasing.” El said. “I promise I’m just making pasta.”

Quentin smiled in relief and went to get in the passenger seat, checking that there were no impressionable students in the parking lot, he lit up a cigarette once he got buckled in. “Thank fuck,” he said, breathing out the nicotine. “Pasta sounds amazing.”


	18. Chapter 18

They got to El’s apartment quite quickly, apparently he lived only about ten minutes from Q’s school. After giving Q a quick tour, El led him into the kitchen.

“Now  _ this _ is a kitchen,” El said, gesturing. Quentin looked around and had to agree. It was large, clean, and there was a lot of counter space. 

“If my kitchen looked like this, I might attempt to actually cook” Quentin said, smiling appreciatively. 

“Well, today is the day you start.” El announced. Flinging open his gigantic fridge door, El grabbed out what looked like a large lump of dough.

“I thought we were having pasta?” Quentin said, confused.

“We are,” El said, setting the dough on the counter. “We just…. Have to make it first.”

_ Of course when Eliot said he was ‘just making pasta’, he meant he was making it from scratch.  _ Quentin thought, laughing.  _ Or rather, we are. _

“Okay El,” Quentin said. “One thing you have to know about me, I cannot cook. Maybe an egg. But that’s about it.”

“Nonsense,” Eliot said, firmly. “You just haven’t been taught by someone as amazing as me. Or nearly as sexy.” El winked and started grabbing down instruments from one of his many cupboards. To Quentin they looked like torture devices, but El reassured him that they were just to stretch the dough out flat and then cut it into even strips.

“How long is this gonna take?” Q asked, and his stomach rumbled. 

“Have no fear, I thought ahead!” Eliot said, reaching back into the fridge and pulling out a covered plate. He removed the lid with a flourish. “Behold - canapes.” 

Quentin looked and saw an array of delicate sandwiches. He had to smile, the thought of Eliot taking the time to craft treats for him that were that cute made him feel warm and tingly.

“Well, don’t just look,” El said. “Eat. I’m gonna grab us some wine, and then we have pasta to make!”

Quentin was on his third Hors d'oeuvre when Eliot came back with the wine. El grabbed down two glasses  and filled them, and Q went to wash his hands. 

“Hold it right there,” El said, pointing at the smaller man with the wine bottle. Q froze, wondering what was wrong, imagining a spider. 

“Before you wash your hands I need you to pull your hair back.” El explained. 

Q smiled and shoved it up in a messy bun, Eliot watching. 

El swallowed, realizing yet again that he had a hair kink he never knew about before he met Quentin. Then again, maybe it was Quentin-specific.

“Alright,” El said, washing his hand and donning a ‘kiss the cook’ apron, “let's do this!”

El was unwrapping the dough carefully when Quentin walked over, and shyly stood up on his tip toes and kissed him gently on the cheek. El smiled and looked over, happy at the affection but not sure where it came from. 

“Just following instructions,” Quentin said, looking serious and gesturing to Eliot’s apron. El looked down and had to laugh.   
\--

They listened to jazz and made pasta, and Quentin couldn’t remember a time when cooking had been this fun. Probably because it hadn’t happened. Quentin didn’t think cooking could be this enjoyable without Eliot.

El was a natural teacher, showing Q how to work the pasta press and explaining how to flour the dough properly so that it didn’t get sticky. Quentin went a little hard on the flour, worrying about the sticky factor, so El gently clued him in about how covering the entire surface area with a half inch of flour wasn’t the best idea either. When he was sure that Q knew what he was doing, El started gathering the ingredients together for a simple and creamy sage and butter sauce. 

Soon the kitchen smelled like herbs and garlic, and Quentin had (mostly) successfully pressed and cut his first batch of fresh pasta. Q looked at the cutting board and the sausage nervously, wondering what he was supposed to next. 

“You are now freed from kitchen duties,” Eliot said, a twinkle in his eye. 

Quentin sighed in relief. “Thanks. That was fun,” he said, “but I think I have learned the max I can in one evening. Besides,” Q tilted his head to the side. “I would rather watch you.”

El snorted. “Sure,” he said, “there’s nothing hotter than me crying as I chop up onions.”

Q frowned. “You just don’t see it like I do.” Quentin ran to his bag and got out his camera.    
“Oh god, Q, I’m a mess,” Eliot said, but secretly he was excited to see how Quentin would capture the moment.

“Hush,” Q said. “Just chop onions and let me do my thing.”

El looked up quick and flashed a smile, which Quentin caught on film. Q spent the next five minutes snapping pics of El putting the sauce together and getting the pasta in to boil. El couldn’t wait to see the final images.

\--

Q set the table with silverware and water glasses, and El married the pasta and sauce with a touch of reserved pasta water, and dished up two plates. He arranged the sausage just so, and had french cut green beans on the side.

But right as El sat the plates down, the song changed and Billie Holiday started to croon at them. Quentin and Eliot paused at the same time, looking at each other. 

 

_ Autumn in New York, why does it seem so inviting? _

_ Autumn in New York, it spells the thrill of first-nighting _

 

El reached out a hand and Quentin came forward, locking fingers with Eliot, before pulling him in for a hug. 

 

_ Glittering crowds and shimmering clouds in canyons of steel _

_ They're making me feel I'm home _

 

For a minute they just stood there, listening and swaying a little from side to side, food forgotten. Life outside of the apartment forgotten.

 

_ It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love  _

_ Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain _

 

El pulled back a little. Quentin was looking up at him and Eliot did his best to memorize his expression, because he was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful.

 

_ Dreamers with empty hands may sigh for exotic lands _

_ It's autumn in New York _

_ It's good to live it again _

 

El tilted Q’s head up so he could kiss the smaller man sweetly.

 

_ It's autumn in New York transforms the slums into Mayfair _

_ Autumn in New York, you'll need no castle in Spain _

 

El sang the last four lines along with Billie, whispering them into Q’s hair.

 

_ Lovers that bless the dark _

_ On benches in Central Park _

 

Quentin just wrapped his arms firmly around the taller man, enjoying the moment to the fullest.

 

_ Greet autumn in New York _

_ It's good to live it again _

 

As the last notes melted away, El prolonged their embrace in the silence. “I really hate to stop this,” he said, softly. “But the pasta is going to get cold.”

\--

Quentin smiled, hugging El tighter before letting him go. “Well, we can’t eat cold pasta, now can we?” He asked, moving to sit. 

El turned the music down and lit the candles. “Please, dig in. Unless you want to pray or something.” El said.

Q laughed. “The last time I prayed was in high school, so I’m good going without if you are.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a bit.

“I didn’t expect it, but I think that Billie tune might be our song,” El said, a bit later on when they had slowed down eating and Quentin had told him how amazing of a cook he was at least twice. 

“I mean, one of them, sure.” Q replied. “But I’ve decided relationships always have at least four.”

“Four, huh?” El stated, raising a brow. “Why that exact number?”

“Well,” Quentin said. “Because of the moods. You’re a musician, you should get it.”

“There are four moods?” Eliot asked, resting his chin in his hands and smiling at Q from across the table, loving how the candles flickered against Quentin’s skin, remembering the taste of Quentin’s neck, and the way Q would shiver when he kissed him right behind the jaw.

Quentin flushed. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m trying to explain things,” he said, “it makes it impossible for me to think straight.” 

“Well, I hope you don’t think straight,” Eliot drawled, “that would make me trying to seduce you a bit awkward.”

Quentin paused for a second, thinking, then he got the joke and he started to laugh. El joined in. 

“I promise to only think bisexually,” Q said, solemnly. 

El nodded. “Good. Then go on, please. Explain to me the four moods and songs while I load the dishwasher.”

Quentin trailed behind El to the kitchen, carrying dishes and helping rinse as he started to babble. “Well, you see, all relationships have four songs. There’s the soft song. That’s the one you slow dance to and Feel Things.”

“Okay,” El said, “that part I get.”

“There’s also the road trip song,” Quentin explained. “It's the one you just have to listen to when you go on a drive somewhere. The one that comes on the radio sometimes and you turn it up really loud and sing at the top of your lungs every time you hear it.”

“So that’s two,” Eliot said, grabbing Q’s hand and leading him to the living room.

“Um, well, there’s the sad one.” Q said, sheepish. “The one you listen to after a fight, when you’re alone and all that. It makes you think of the person you love, and miss them.”

“I don’t want that one,” El said. 

“Yeah,” Q replied. “No one does. But all relationships end up having it anyways. And then there’s the fourth song.” Quentin blushed.

El leaned forward on the couch. “I think I’m going to like this one,” he said, “please go on.”

“It’s the one, ah, you know…” Q trailed off, gesturing at El. 

“I most certainly do not know,” Eliot exclaimed.

“It’s the one you feel and think about when you want to fuck,” Q said, turning an even darker shade of red.

Eliot laughed. “Oh,” he said. “ _ That  _ song.”

\--

They had finished off the first bottle of wine, and were halfway through a second. Quentin was sitting right next to Eliot, resting his head against El’s chest. El was unconsciously running his fingers through Q’s hair, having pulled it out of a bun over half an hour ago.

“You ever braid your hair?” El asked, suddenly. He had an idea.

“Um, I don’t,” Quentin said, “but Julia has. Pretty much whenever she wants to try a new braid out, I become her hair model.”

“Can I braid it?” El asked, fingers stilling against Q’s head.

“Sure, if you want.” Quentin said, shrugging.

“You’ll have to scoot forward and let me straddle you from behind,” El said, a twinkle in his eye. 

“Are you braiding my hair or fucking me?” Quentin asked, laughing, as he threw a pillow on the floor and sat on in. 

“Hmmm, braiding your hair.” Eliot said, and then traced his finger against Q’s neck. “For now.”

Eliot started to finger brush Q’s hair, and Q shivered at the sensation.

“Can we talk?” El asked, gently. He thought that maybe it would be easier for Quentin to talk about deep shit if Eliot wasn’t staring into his eyes. Alice was like that when they first met her. Eliot remembered that braiding her hair helped her be calm and talk more openly.

“Um, sure.” Q said. “What about?”

“Just in general.” Eliot said. “Maybe brush on why you left my show if you want to, but there’s no pressure.” El leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Quentin’s head.

Q tensed, but then relaxed. “Did you, um, talk to Fogg at all?” He asked, playing with the pillow he was sitting on.

“Yes.” Eliot said, starting to separate Q’s hair into pieces. “He said that you have a restraining order against Poppy Kline, and she showed up. You had a bad moment and I think Julia came to get you? I'm not sure of that part, because he called her ‘your little button of a friend’. But it sounded like Julia” Eliot started to braid gently.

“And?” Q asked, completely still. 

“And nothing.” Eliot said, firmly. “I told him that if I was going to hear anything more about it, I wanted to hear it from you.”

Q sighed in relief and relaxed, leaning his back against Eliot’s leg.

“Is it okay if I’m not ready to talk about it that much?” Q asked.

Eliot stopped what he was doing. He moved until he was looking Q in the eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it at all.” El said. “I just wanted to be honest about what it was that I knew.” El leaned back and continued braiding. 

“Okay.” Q said. “Basically, she’s an ex. The Ex. You know? The one that really fucked me up.” Q took a finger and started making swirls in Eliot’s carpet. “She probably showed up at your gig with that changing room debacle Fogg mentioned because of me. To get to me through you.” Q said. “I’m not being narcissistic there, she wanted to control my entire life. Including the music I listened to. And she knew you guys were my favorite local band” Q shrugged.

Eliot stopped the pretense of braiding, just listening and gently running his fingers against Quentin’s shoulder, trying to just be there. “Sounds like shit,” El said. 

“It was.” Quentin said. “It, ah, took me a couple years to be a  **_me_ ** again. When I broke up with her. I was so used to needing her approval, I changed who I was until I wasn’t.” Q said.

Q reached behind himself and grabbed Eliot’s hands, putting them back on his head firmly. “Now finish my hair.” Q stated. "I want to be a beautiful braided boy for my students tomorrow.”

El smiled and started braiding in earnest. "Your wish, my command, and all that," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cover of “Be My Baby” in this chapter can be found here:   
> https://youtu.be/txOeZ8bV6-A

Quentin was getting ready to spend the evening at Eliot’s apartment. Again. For the third time. And goddamnit, he did not want this evening to end the same way the last two had. 

Sure, they made out on the couch, but right when Quentin thought things were about to get interesting, Eliot pulled back, and just kissed him. And then gave him a blowjob. Quentin didn’t want it to seem like he was complaining, Eliot was the fucking high king of fellatio, as Q had told him several times on Tuesday, inspersed with a ‘sweet fuck’ here and a ‘holy motherfucking shit’ there. But Quentin needed more. His body felt empty, and he needed to be  _ filled. _ (And fucked into oblivion. _..) _

If Eliot was ready, of course, but Quentin had become acquainted enough with Eliot’s dick to know that at least in some ways El was ready. And Jesus Fuck, Q was ready. For the sex. 

He didn’t know why it was so hard to talk about. Probably because he didn’t know if they were even dating yet. So he should figure that out, too. 

Quentin practiced asking in front of the mirror.

“Eliot, are we dating? Also, why haven’t we fucked yet?”

Nope. Sounded needy. 

“Hey, El, someone asked if I had a boyfriend, and I didn’t know what to tell them, are we together? Also why haven’t you given me that deep dick yet?”

Nope. Pathetic and weird.

“Eliot Waugh, I need you inside me, I need to ride you like a goddamn stallion, and also I want to update my relationship status on facebook, but don’t know what to change it to. Help a brotha out.”

Fuck.

Why was Quentin this nervous?

Well, this would be his first partner since Poppy that wasn’t a casual hookup between frenemies or a one night stand. 

Also, should he tell Eliot what was happening when he broke all those olive jars at the bodega? What was the expected level of honesty when it came to ‘I don’t know if we are dating, but a few months back, before we met, I got fucked by the bodega man’. It was super casual between Penny and him, so Q didn’t want to make it more of a thing than it was.

But last night he ran out of his vanilla chamomile tea and braved Penny’s gruff and angry exasperation because he could  _ not  _ sleep without that tea. Penny had been in a Mood, and for the first time, Q had turned him down for angry casual backroom sex. But Q didn’t know what to say when Penny asked if he was “dating that tall fuck with the hot ass and sexy hair.” 

He had to settle with saying “I think so.” And that was not sufficient when it came to Indie Rock Sex God Eliot fuckin Waugh. He had to be certain of where they stood. And find out if he kissed weird or something, and that was why Eliot didn’t want to fuck him.

Shit.

Yeah, he and Eliot needed to talk.

\--

Eliot was going completely fucking insane. He felt like he was made of opposites. Every time he saw Quentin he wanted to ravage the smaller man, but at the same time, he wanted Q to know he, like, cherished him. Valued him as more than just another fuck. So he kept blowing the dude instead of anything more, and I mean, three blowjobs in a row isn’t a bad way to end three different nights, but El felt like he was crawling out of his skin with an unmet need.

And the way that Quentin had swallowed him down and sucked his brains out through his dick on Tuesday made him think that maybe Q was also ready for something more. But Eliot knew his reputation, he was always seen as something of a slut, and he didn’t like it. Because he didn’t want to just fuck and forget Quentin, he wanted to teach him how to make ravioli, he wanted to hear Q read his favorite book out loud. He wanted to see Quentin’s face at every single one of his concerts, and all that shit.

I think I’m going to have to talk to him, Eliot realized. About…. Feelings. This was not Eliot’s strong suit, but he was determined, and that had to count for something. Also, he had planned this night, set it on a Friday, made sure they didn’t have practice tomorrow until 2 pm, washed his sheets, bought all the brunch essentials.

_ Don’t think about your clean sheets,  _ El thought, firmly.  _ Or all the other sex-related essentials you have in your bedside drawer…. _

Yeah, Eliot needed to talk to Quentin. And then hopefully if everything went well, and he had made sure that Q knew he cared about his heart and not just his body, Quentin would stay the night and Eliot could show the smaller man all the other things he was the high king of...

\--

The car ride to Eliot’s apartment was weird. Quentin was worried that he was giving off needy bottom vibes or something, so he decided to do something about it. Not talk about the sex and the dating-not-dating, not yet, but break up the weird energy.

“I heard a new cover, and I thought you’d like it,” Q started by saying. “I know you normally pick our tunes, but can I….?” He trailed off.

“Of course,” Eliot said. “I just choose the music because I need music like air. And if I don’t pick the songs, someone might play some shit like, I don’t know, fuckin’ Meghan Trainor.”

Q sucked in a breath, genuinely insulted. “I would never” he said.

“I know,” El laughed. “It is just habit at this point. Please, pick a tune, any tune, don’t tell me what it is…. Unless I like it, and want it for one of my playlists. Then please tell me what it is. And consider this a standing invitation,” Eliot looked at Q and smiled, before turning onto his street. “You can change the music in my car whenever you want.”

Quentin blushed, and hit play on the HoneyWire cover of ‘Be My Baby’ before he could think too much about why the song made him think of Eliot.

 

_ The night we met I knew I needed you so _

_ And if I had the chance I'd never let you go _

_ So won't you say you love me _

_ I'll make you so proud of me _

_ We'll make 'em turn their heads every place we go _

 

At first, Eliot had froze when the song came on, and Quentin was worried that he had somehow completely misjudged the taller man, and that he wasn’t a Dirty Dancing fan. Which seemed ridiculous, but Q had been wrong before. But then Eliot smiled, and started singing along.

 

_ So won't you, please, be my, be my baby _

_ Be my little baby, my one and only baby _

_ Say you'll be my darlin', be my, be my baby _

_ Be my baby now, my one and only baby _

_ Wha oh oh oh _

 

Quentin smiled, and leaned back against his seat, closing his eyes and listening to Eliot’s voice wash over him. Enjoying the sound, and loving the way just hearing Eliot sing could turn him on. Well, loving and hating it at the same time.

 

_ I'll make you happy, baby, just wait and see _

_ For every kiss you give me I'll give you three _

_ Oh, since the day I saw you _

_ I have been waiting for you _

_ You know I will adore you 'til eternity _

 

Q knew he had about enough time to smoke one more cigarette before they got to El’s apartment, so he lit up and blew the smoke out the window of the car, loving this moment, and also knowing he would need the nicotine to calm his nerves for the conversation they simply had to have once they got upstairs.

 

_ So won't you, please, be my, be my baby _

_ Be my little baby, my one and only baby _

_ Say you'll be my darlin', be my, be my baby _

_ Be my baby now, my one and only baby _

_ Wha oh oh oh oh _

 

They had pulled up to Eliot’s apartment building at this point, but El just moved the car into his space in the parking garage and left it on, and after unbuckling his seatbelt, he turned to Quentin and Q thought he would melt through the floor of the car into the pavement from the heat in Eliot’s eyes. Somehow it switched from a sing along to a cool cover, to Eliot using this song to say something Quentin felt very ready to hear.

 

_ So come on and, please, be my, be my baby _

_ Be my little baby, my one and only baby _

_ Say you'll be my darlin', be my, be my baby _

_ Be my baby now, my one and only baby _

_ Wha oh oh oh _

 

The last notes of the song faded, and Eliot turned off the car, but still they sat there, just staring at each other. Quentin slowly unbuckled and El moved his seat back at the same, they both seemed to be in agreement about what needed to happen next. El held out his hand, Q put his phone in it, and El started the song all over again. Quentin climbed over the middle of the seat to straddle him. They kissed through the entire three minutes and twelve seconds, and when Q’s phone went silent, they just kissed some more.

\--

Breaking away from Quentin some time later, El sucked in a breath of air. He looked at Quentin, well-kissed and hair all fucked up, pupils dilated, and knew he had never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Well,” he said, when he felt he could talk. “I think we found our fourth song.” 

Quentin buried his head in Eliot’s shoulder and laughed, before untangling from the taller man and grabbing his messenger bag.

\--

“I have to agree,” Q said, climbing out of the car and adjusting himself. “Now please take me inside and feed me.”

“Needy little Q,” Eliot whispered in his ear, passing behind Q to unlock the building door, placing his hand briefly on the smaller man’s back. Q shivered, and felt all the more determined. Him and Eliot were going to  _ talk, _ and  _ dear lord above please oh please _ , then they were going to _ fuck. _

\--

They got up to El’s apartment very quickly, and Eliot pulled out the shepherd’s pie he had cooking in the oven. 

“That smells so fucking good,” Quentin said, coming up behind El, his stomach growling in appreciation.

“It should!” El said, trying to cover his pride. “This topping? Made of two kinds of potato, and parsnip for a bit of a bite.”

“I can honestly say I don’t think I have ever eaten a parsnip before in my life,” Quentin said, solemnly setting out two plates on El’s island, having decided he wanted them to talk in the kitchen, where it was more casual. The formal dining room would make him feel way too much like he was a suitor from the late 1700s asking to court Eliot. And he didn’t want to court El, he wanted El to fuck him into next week. Ergo setting plates in the kitchen.

El scooped them both a healthy serving of the steaming and succulent dish, the scent of the red wine sauce and the parmesan crusted topping making his mouth water. “Well, in about five minutes, give or take, you won’t be able to say that anymore.” El said. He chose not to comment on the fact that Q had apparently decided they were eating in the kitchen. He had a nice kitchen. 

\--

For the next few minutes, they just ate in silence, Quentin making little sounds of happiness and enjoyment that Eliot thought for sure had to be purposeful attempts at driving him batshit crazy with desire. 

El shifted in his seat, and Quentin mirrored the motion.

“We have to talk” they said at the same time, and then both froze, looking at each other.

“Shit,” El said. “First, what I want to say isn’t bad and you shouldn’t be like, worried.”

“Same.” Quentin said, flushing.

“Well, at least that is out of the way.” El said. “You first.” He gestured at the smaller man with a loaded fork before taking a nice bite. He then made direct eye contact with Quentin and licked his fork clean.

Quentin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

They just looked at each other for a bit, and El opened his mouth to speak, thinking maybe Q didn’t want to go first. But in that moment Quentin apparently decided to go for it. All the way.

“Are we dating?” Q blurted out. “Um, I ah, mean…. Are you my boyfriend? Am I yours? Like, ah, Penny”

_ Penny? _ El thought,  _ why the fuck are we talking about the bodega man? _

“Penny wanted to fuck last night” Q said, flushing. “Again.”

_ You’ve fucked Penny? _ Eliot thought, choking on his wine.

“I said no, of course” Quentin hastily added, “And the last time was months upon months ago. But then he asked if we were dating, you and me, and ah, I didn’t know what to say.”

A look of horror passed over Q’s face as he realized how he had just combined telling El that Penny and he had been a thing with asking Eliot if they were together.  _ And after all that practice,  _ he thought to himself, groaning internally. But he forced himself to be quiet, waiting for Eliot to reply. 

\--

“I showed you how to make pasta.” Eliot said, resuming eating, figuring this cleared things up nicely.

“You showed me how to make pasta?” Quentin parroted back, looking extremely confused.

“I danced with you in the dining room” Eliot added, wondering why the adorable man wasn’t getting it, wanting him to get it so that they could move on to talk about how Q had apparently fucked the bodega man, and not Eliot. Not that Eliot minded that Q had partners before, but if Penny knew what it was like to be inside of that sweet man, Eliot deserved to know what it was like, too. Fair was fair. Especially since they  _ were  _ dating. Obviously.

“You danced with me in the dining room.” Quentin said, tilting his head to the side.

“Jesus, Quentin, I’ve sucked your dick on three different occasions. I braided your hair. I showed you how to make pasta, of course we are dating.” El burst out.

Quentin flushed. “I wasn’t sure,” he said, getting quiet.

“No no no” El hastily added. “I should have been more clear between the second and third time I went down on you. Should have asked somewhere in there for you to be my boyfriend. I guess I thought you could read my mind or some shit, and just knew that‘s what I meant. It’s my bad.”

Quentin laughed, and started beaming. “Because you showed me how to make pasta.” 

Eliot nodded in agreement.

“And you sucked my dick three times.” Quentin added, eyes sparkling.

“Exactly.” Eliot said. “Glad we cleared that up. Now, on to more pressing matters… You fucked the mean bodega man?”

Quentin choked on the sip of tea he had taken right then. “Yes,” he said, hiding behind his hair and his mug. “Several times. It was casual, we used protection, and ah, I hadn’t even met you yet.”

El thought back on their interaction with Penny. Then he connected some dots. “Is that how you broke all the jars of olives?” he asked, finally. 

“I just told you I fucked another man, a man you met, and that last night he asked me to have sex again, and you want to know how I broke all the jars of olives?” Quentin said, shaking his head at the taller man.

“Well, obviously I didn’t expect that you were celibate before we met, I mean, I sure wasn’t, and you already said that you said no when asked, which I appreciate, as your  _ boyfriend,  _ so yeah.” El replied. “I want to know about the olives.”

“Well then.” Q said. “Yeah. That is most definitely how I broke all the olives.”

\--

They finished eating, talking casually about nothing at all, and Quentin felt frustrated. Out of all the emotions he expected Eliot to have, hearing about Penny, curiosity and acceptance weren’t foremost in his mind. Jealousy, maybe, disbelief. But then again, this was Eliot fuckin’ Waugh. A man unto himself.  _ My boyfriend,  _ Quentin thought, and he felt warm with the knowledge, warm and flushed. All over.

“Whatever are you thinking about, Q my dear?” El asked, from where he was packing up leftovers.

_ Now’s my chance,  _ Quentin thought. “I was thinking, if you are my boyfriend, and I’m yours, then why haven’t you fucked me yet?” He said, trying to sound casual, but need shaking in his voice.

\--

Eliot froze, mid scoop, and then set the spoon back in the glass casserole dish. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk about, earlier.” El said, moving towards Quentin, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Oh really?” Q asked, stilling, deciding he really liked the look Eliot was wearing.

“Really,” Eliot said, hooking his arm around Quentin’s back, and tugging the man fully against him. “I wanted to make sure you knew something” El added, capturing Quentin’s hair in his other hand, tugging just right to get Q’s head in position for his lips to be thoroughly ravished. 

“What was that?” Q asked, running a hand shakily up Eliot’s chest before settling it on the taller man’s tie, working it loose.

“I wanted to make sure you knew you meant something to me.” El said, his voice suddenly full of emotion. He shoved the emotion down, there was time for that later. “Before I stripped you bare and rode you like an animal until you screamed my name.” He added, starting to push Quentin in the direction of his bedroom. “I wanted you to know you meant more than sex to me.”

Q lit up from the inside, and Eliot had to struggle with himself to not rip their clothes off right there in the hallway.

“You mean more than sex to me, too.” Quentin said, tugging Eliot’s tie completely loose and throwing it on the ground. “But right now…” Quentin trailed off, as Eliot had led them to the room and was now kissing along his jaw. 

“Right now?” Eliot breathed, tugging at Q’s belt and helping the smaller man out of his jeans.

“Right now I really need you to fuck me,” Q admitted, tugging his shirt off and standing before Eliot in just his boxers. “If you want to,” he added, feeling a little self conscious.

Eliot sank to his knees and he placed several sweet kisses against Quentin’s hardening dick, through the fabric of his underwear. “I really really fucking want to.” Eliot replied.

“Oh thank fuck,” Quentin breathed out. And then pounced.

\--

El impatiently tugging his own shirt off, the sound of buttons popping in the silence of their heavy breathing.

_ Be my, be my baby, be my little baby _

Eliot’s hands guiding Quentin down to his belt buckle. Q’s fingers fumbling but managing to open El’s pants, the sigh El let out when his cock was finally free.

_ My one and only baby, oh oh _

Quentin, unable to resist, swallowing El to the root, working him up, tasting the salty flavor that was all Eliot. Eliot’s inhale at the feel of Quentin’s tongue against his aching skin.

_ Be my, be my baby, oh _

Eliot pulling Q away, a curse on his lips, the whine Q let out at being tugged away from where his mouth so wanted to be. A whine that died when he saw the heat and intensity of Eliot’s gaze.

_ My one and only baby, wha oh oh oh oh _

Pulling Quentin up, higher, until their lips locked, and then pushing him back to the bed. The way the smaller man looked hair spread out on Eliot’s comforter. The growl Eliot let out as he covered Q’s shivering body with his own. The sigh of happiness Quentin let out at that contact.

_ Be my, be my baby, oh _

The excitement and delight in Quentin’s eyes when Eliot reached over to the drawer and pulled out the lube he had waiting. The expert way that Quentin used his mouth and hands to get the condom just right on Eliot’s aching cock.

_ My one and only baby, oh _

The shuddering intake of air when Eliot started working Quentin open. One finger, then two. The way he spread his legs and just laid there, exposed before Eliot, trusting El, trusting the moment.

_ Be my, be my baby, oh _

The heat and slick feel of Quentin surrounding him, the thrust and pound of Eliot’s hips. The sounds their bodies made when they moved together. The way Eliot said Q’s name right before coming, as if it was a prayer. The peace of the moments after they both had came.

_ Be my baby now _


	20. Chapter 20

A beeping noise startled Eliot as he dozed, lost in a delightful post-sex haze with his boyfriend.  _ I love saying that,  _ El realized. _ Even just silently to myself.  _ He grumbled against Quentin’s back as Q reached to the floor and grabbed his jeans, digging into his discarded pants pocket to silence his phone. When Quentin stood up completely, Eliot whined. He wanted cuddles, and he wanted them right _ now.  _ But Q just hurried over to his messenger bag and grabbed out his bottle of meds. Buck-ass naked. So El scooted up into a sitting position and watched his  _ boyfriend  _ amble through his room towards the bathroom, unabashedly checking Q out. El saw some scratch marks here and some hickies there, and felt very content.

Quentin was so focused on taking his antidepressants that he didn’t seem to be aware of his lack of clothing, or the way Eliot was staring at him. But when he came back into the room, swallowing, he stopped, and looked down, and then blushed bright red.  _ Everywhere.  _ Q dove into the blanket pile at the edge of the bed, moving much faster than Eliot was used to seeing, and started rolling up in his fuzziest throw. It was fucking adorable. Once he was suitably swaddled, Q rolled over a final time so that he was facing Eliot.

“I am a burrito of Quentin” he announced. 

“Is that so?” Eliot asked, smiling and stretching out. He, of course, was also naked, but he was Eliot fuckin’ Waugh, and he didn’t feel the need to hide anything. 

“Yes.” Q said, trying to keep a serious look on his face. “And you are a….” he looked Eliot up and down. “Okay, I wanted to say something really funny here,” Q admitted, “but honestly, you’re just fucking gorgeous right now and I can only handle being around you because I am in this burrito.”

Eliot laughed, and reached over, starting to tug at the edge of Q’s blanket.

“Noooooo, not my protective tortilla covering!!!” Q fake-shouted, even as he helped Eliot unwrap him.

“Come here, you fucking nerd,” Eliot said. “You are a burrito of Quentin and I’m  _ hungry _ .”

\--

Eliot came into practice on Saturday absolutely beaming. Alice and Kady threw him a couple glances, but Margo was the first to comment.

“Thank fucking tits, you got laid.” She said, from where she was sitting doing paperwork. “Now maybe you can actually concentrate and I won’t have to castrate you.” 

Of course, after they had went through their newly arranged set a few times, she pulled him aside, needing details. Now they were outside smoking. Or at least, Eliot was smoking, Margo was trying to quit. 

“He called himself a burrito?” Margo asked, chewing gum very intensely, like she did everything in life.

“He did, and it was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my entire goddamn life.” Eliot replied.

“It must have been,” Margo said, “since you fucked him again right afterwards. He must have an ass that won’t quit.”

“It’s not just fucking, Bambi,” Eliot ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “I can’t explain it to you. Like, today? I feel different,  _ better,  _ because he was with me last night. Being around him feels right. And he’s just the perfect size for me, I can curl around him and keep him safe. Surround him, and appreciate the scent of sex and peaches.” El took a drag of his cigarette and let it out, sighing. “When I’m kissing him, or when I’m  _ in  _ him, that’s it. That’s all that exists. I haven’t had that before.”

Margo nodded. “He’s your kitty.” She said, simply.

“Yes,” Eliot replied, “except he’s a burrito.”

Alice waved at Margo through the window, so the brunette patted Eliot’s chest and started back into the building. “Also, next time you wanna wax poetic about your boyfriend, I’m going to break out a voice recorder, because I think there’s a song in there somewhere.” Margo tossed over her shoulder, smiling.

_ One song,  _ Eliot wondered to himself, _ or one thousand? _ Grinding the butt of his cigarette under his heel he followed Margo inside.

\--

Quentin was happy. Really goddamn happy. Crazy happy. He could swear he hadn’t been so happy in recent memory. But Julia was at  _ work, _ like a completely stupid  _ reliable adult, _ so Q made himself grade student paper outlines as he waited for her shift to end. Because he needed his best friend. When she came home that evening he pretty much pounced on her. 

“Jules!!!!” He shouted, running down the hall and hugging her tightly. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” julia said, laughing. “If I was gonna guess, I’d say it had something to do with you not coming home last night.”

“You’d be guessing right” Q replied. “I stayed over at El’s and, Julia,” He sighed. “It was  _ perfect _ .”

“Good!” Julia said, “that’s what you deserve.” She set her purse down and started filling the kettle. “You want some tea?” She asked, turning. Q was looking at her expectantly. “Okay, curly Q, it is clear you are about to explode, why don’t you fill me in?”

“First of all, it’s official, we are  _ dating. _ ” Q said. “And he is the best at sex ever. Ever ever. It is insane. He could teach a course. But he better not. Because he’s my  _ boyfriend. _ ”

Julia laughed. “I’m glad you got all of that sorted out. And that you can stop asking your mirror out. That was getting a little weird” Her expression became serious. “But you’re happy?”

“The happiest.” Quentin replied. “He makes me feel safe. And last night staying over? I didn’t have a single nightmare or bad dream.”

“Not one?” Julia asked, impressed. Q was well known for his awful dreams. 

“Nope!” Q said, but then paused. “I mean, I dreamt that Sting gave birth to the cartoon Tarzan’s love child out of his butt but it wasn’t a baby, it was a bag of starburst candy. I had to deliver it. But that’s just weird, not nightmarish.” 

“Your brain, Q, I swear.” Julia said, passing him his mug of tea before adding honey to her own. “But I’m happy that you are happy. And I’m here when you need to talk.”

“Thanks!” Quentin said. “And I know you don't want the exact details of how he dicked me down, but can I just say, no one has ever done it better?”

Julia snorted. “Yes, you can say that.”

“Julia, I came four times in one night. Well, once was more technically this morning” Q said, blushing. “And two of them were after I informed Eliot that I was a burrito.”

“You told the indie rock sex god that you were a burrito?” Julia asked.

“Yes.” Quentin said, very serious. “Because I was.”

“Well, that makes sense then.” Julia replied, ruffling Q's hair. “I’m gonna go shower the ER off of me now, if you are good.”

“I am good.” Q said. “...for now. After your shower I might need to gush some more.”

“I figured as much” Julia said with a smile, “and I can’t wait to hear more about your _boyfriend._ ” She walked to her bedroom for clean pajamas, downing her tea.

Quentin sat at the counter with his, grinning.

“My boyfriend,” he said softly to himself. Then he paused, and really thought about it.  _ Eliot Waugh, Indie Rock Sex God, is my boyfriend.  _ Quentin thought. _ Holy fuck, that doesn’t seem real, but at the same time, nothing has ever felt more right. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legit have had that Tarzan/Sting dream. Twas weird. Sorry this is a shorter chapter, but it felt very necessary! Hope you liked it :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE FIND OUT WHY POPPY IS A HO THIS CHAPTER!!!!!
> 
> CW: this chapter does reference the canon-compliant mental health/suicide attempt history of Quentin, only briefly, and ending very happily, but I always want to be up front about that shiz.

The next few months were, Quentin decided, the happiest of his life. His students started teasing him about the “rockstar who was rocking his star,” and even his coworkers noticed how he seemed just, happier. Not like, depression free, but the kind of happy that comes from being cared for. And fucked on a consistent basis. Endorphins. Are. Amazing.

Julia had even started teasing him and asking if he was her roommate anymore, since he spent so many nights over at Eliot’s. Quentin worried that they were pulling up the u-haul a bit fast, but when Eliot cleared out a drawer for him and made space in the shower, Q smiled and left some clothes over and his ‘abysmal drug store excuse of a shower gel’ as Eliot liked to call it.

But Quentin had walked in on Eliot sniffing the bottle, so he figured El couldn’t find it  _ that  _ abysmal.

\--

They had one rocky moment, but it was brief. Eliot was cooking and Quentin was scrolling through instagram and reading off band groupie thirst comments on a selfie Eliot had posted in a mocking voice. 

“You know” Quentin said, scrolling down. “I don’t want you to think I’m jealous of these people, for real, even if they want you to ‘destroy their bussy.’ Because, um, I’m not.”

“That’s good,” El said, smiling. “I mean, the only bussy I’m destroying around here is yours. I haven’t so much as kissed another person, besides Margo, in ages.”

“Yeah, that’s cuz you have a boyfriend.” Quentin said, grinning, but then his face fell a little. “So,  _ I _ know we are dating, and  _ you  _ know, but like, how does that work with your band and like, all that shit? You still don’t follow me from your public account, and a part of me wants to start posting more pictures of us together. Like, where people can see.”

Eliot paused his stirring. “I’m not sure we are there yet.” He finally said. 

“Oh, ‘we’ aren’t there?” Quentin asked, putting a lot of emphasis on Eliot’s choice of words.

“Shit,” El said. He sighed and turned off the stove. “That’s not what I meant. It’s not my job to speak for you, but like, you must know about Mike…”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Quentin said, grimacing. “Your ex. That your fans went a little crazy on.”

“Mhmm,” El said. “You know, I wouldn’t be where I am without my fans, but I kind of lost Mike because we went too hard too fast. Then my fans dug up that shit about his past, and then he lied about it, and I reacted poorly and…. I didn’t care about him half as much as I care about you.” El reached out a hand and ruffled Q’s hair. “I’m scared to fucking death of losing you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Eliot.” Quentin said. “And sure, it bugs me a bit that I can’t like, comment on your public pictures and, shit, I don’t know,  _ claim _ you or whatever. But I get it. You need more time.”

“Ooooh,” El drawled, tugging Quentin off his stool. “You can claim me anytime you want. Or rather, we can claim each other.” He kissed Q on the forehead and then pulled back, switching to serious once more. “But yeah, can I have more time to think about it, and like, talk to Margo? I really don’t want you to get fucked with like Mike did.”

“I get it,” Q said. “I do, and yes, of course, this is a decision we both have to be ready for. Just know that as soon as you are, I am, okay?”

“Shit,” Eliot said. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Q replied firmly.

\--

Eliot did not like to sit and read, it was true. But he loved having Quentin read to him. Q had noticed that all the books Eliot had around his place were modern poets, and had decided to introduce him to some more classic authors. Like T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson and Langston Hughes. Now El’s apartment somehow had books everywhere just like Quentin’s. 

_ This is what comes of dating an English teacher,  _ Eliot thought, looking around. But then he went back to focusing on Quentin.

Quentin, sitting on his couch, legs stretched out. Eliot, lounging across him, chin resting on Q’s stomach.

Quentin. Reading Walt Whitman. Eliot wasn’t sure if it was the sound of Quentin’s voice, the fact that they hadn’t fucked yet today, or the poem itself, but he was getting turned on.

_ The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, _

_ It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, _

_ I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, _

_ I am mad for it to be in contact with me. _

El adjusted his pants, Q smiled, noticing the motion from behind the book, but pretended he hadn’t seen anything. He went on. He hadn’t told Eliot, but this was one of his favorite poems. It made him feel things.

_ The smoke of my own breath, _

_ Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, _

_ My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, _

El sat up, and looked at Quentin with eyes full of the promise of sex. “Bedroom?” He asked, voice hoarse. 

“Hey now,” Q said, pretending to frown. “Pay attention.”

“Why? Is there going to be a quiz?” Eliot asked, trying to be cute.

“I told you I was going to read you this poem, and you are going to sit there and listen, Eliot Waugh.” Quentin said, using his teacher’s voice. 

Eliot stilled. “Yes, professor.” He said, in a voice that went straight to Quentin’s groin. Q shifted, and Eliot smiled, having figured out a way to make the poetry reading more... interesting.

_ There was never any more inception than there is now, _

_ Nor any more youth or age than there is now, _

_ And will never be any more perfection than there is now, _

_ Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. _

Quentin felt Eliot move again, and then a hand at his belt. He paused, staring at his boyfriend. 

“Is this okay… professor?” Eliot asked, briefly cupping Quentin in his hand.

Quentin just grinned, nodded, undid the belt himself, and went on.

_ Urge and urge and urge, _

_ Always the procreant urge of the world. _

Q sucked a breath in, El was unbuttoning his jeans. The curly haired rocker leaned forward, placing a kiss against Q’s crotch.

_ Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, _

_ Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. _

Quentin was determined to keep reading, thought it was getting harder. _ Well,  _ he thought, looking down at where Eliot was palming him through his boxers, jeans somehow now on the floor,  _ something is definitely getting harder. _

_ Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. _

Eliot pulled down his boxers and started kissing around Quentin’s cock. Kissing everywhere, that is, everywhere except where Quentin was suddenly very certain he needed to be kissed. But still, he went on.

_ Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, _

_ Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. _

Finally, fucking FINALLY Eliot kissed the head of his dick, and Quentin forgot how to breathe, let alone read for a good five seconds. But then Eliot pulled off, wiping his mouth.

“I thought you just  _ had  _ to read me that poem.” El said, smiling.

_ Oh,  _ Quentin thought.  _ It is on. _

So he started reading again, and Eliot bent back to his task, taking Q in his mouth, sucking him down and swirling his tongue just right.

Q’s voice was quivering, but still he read on.

_ Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, _

“Oh, fuck, El…”

_ Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, _

_ Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, _

“Shit, yeah, just like that.”

_ Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, _

_ Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. _

“What will come next?” Eliot wondered, and then decided he knew the answer, and he wanted to lick Quentin down, taste all of him right  _ now _ . So he got to work, giving his all.

_ I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning _

“Holy christ.” Q bit out between clenched teeth. 

_ How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me, _

“El,” Q panted, reaching one hand down to tangle in his lover’s hair. The other shakily holding the book he was doing his best to still read.

_ And parted the shirt  _

El swirled and sucked and Quentin’s breathing grew more ragged.

_ from my bosom-bone... _

Quentin’s pelvis started thrusting upwards into Eliot’s mouth. 

_ and plunged your tongue _

Quentin then made a sound beyond words, but still, he tried to read on.

_ to my bare-... _

_ stript...  _

“Oh god.”

_ heart... _

“Eliot!” Q screamed, cumming violently into El’s eager mouth. 

Eliot swallowed him down and let Quentin recover for a second, placing kisses all along his hip bone as Q regained the ability to speak. Eventually Q’s heaving chest slowed a bit, and El shifted where he sat, loving this, his boyfriend laid out before him, still half-clothed, one leg on the couch, the other trailing to the floor.

“Bedroom?” Eliot asked, a second time. Q looked and saw the hardness in Eliot’s pants just begging to be set free, and nodded, standing.

El grabbed the poetry book from Quentin’s hand and tossed it behind them on the couch as he pulled Q towards silk sheets and condoms and lube.

_ Yeah,  _ Q thought, lazily, a good while later, tangled up with Eliot, completely exhausted in the best of ways.  _ That really is one of my favorite poems. _

\--

They were at Quentin’s apartment, and Q looked around, noticing and loving all the little signs that Eliot had been there. First and foremost, he now had multiple spatulas, because apparently that was important. And he had three kinds of salt. Which seemed a bit much, but, in Eliot’s words “if I can’t say shit about you having five goddamn kinds of mint tea, you cannot complain about me wanting you to have iodized, himilayan and sea salt.”

\--

It was later on that same evening. “I’m ready to talk about Poppy now.” Quentin said, quietly. Eliot stilled, his arm around Q. They were lazing in Quentin’s bed after dinner. And after after-dinner sex. 

He had not expected this.

“Okay, Q,” El said, gently. “If you are sure.”

“I am.” Q said, firm. “I, ah, I trust you.”

Eliot started to move as if to sit up and look Q in the eyes, but Quentin stopped him.

“Its, ah, actually easier for me to talk about this if you are holding me.” Q said. “At least right this minute.”

“Well then,” El replied, kissing the top of the smaller man’s head and firmly putting his arms around him. “Hold you, I shall. Let me know if it changes.”

“So.” Quentin said. And then was silent for several minutes. Eliot just waited, he knew this had to be difficult, and they had all the time in the world. Well, they had until 2 pm the next day, where come hell or high water he had better be at practice or Margo would eviscerate the both of them.

“It started out normal.” Q finally spoke. “Or, I thought it was normal. I ah, don’t have a great relationship with my parents. My mom thinks I break things and my dad kind of just sees the me he wants to, not the me that I am. So when this girl noticed me, and I mean, noticed the  _ real  _ me, that seemed special.” 

Q paused, turning slightly and resting his cheek on Eliot’s chest.

“I had a couple boyfriends, before her. But I didn’t love them. Like, not real love. I just wanted someone to touch me and to be able to touch someone, you know?” Q turned, looking up at El, waiting for him to agree.

“I totally know.” El said. Q looked down again.

“Yeah, so she was the first person I loved and like,  _ loved,  _ romantic styles. So when she started changing little parts of me, I didn’t notice.” Q sat up, and ran his fingers through his hair. “No,” he said, turning to face El. “I noticed, I just, I thought she was doing it because she loved me. Because she wanted the best for me.” 

He sighed, looking at the ceiling. “It started out so fucking small, like, I don’t even remember all the little things, just a casual ‘are you sure you wanna wear that tonight?’ here, and a ‘don’t be so, you know,  _ you,  _ tonight around my friends, because I want them to like you.’ Shit like that. Putting me down, but phrased in a way that made me think it was all because she cared.”

Q felt full of nervous energy, like it was going to burst out of him, so he stood and tugged on his boxers, really starting to get into it. “Like, bit by bit I just, shifted. I started asking her what I should or shouldn’t do, and then that became me asking her what I could or couldn’t do.” Q started pacing back and forth. “Those might sound like the same things, but trust me, they aren’t.”

“I, ah, I started shutting friends out, because she said they didn’t like her, and that they just didn’t understand our love. Fuck, I even shut Julia out for a bit.” Here Q paused, smiling, “but she wouldn’t stay shut out, she just camped on the proverbial porch, knocking on the door everyday waiting for me to let her back in.”

“Then.” Q started pacing again. Eliot sat up, he could tell that something was coming, big and bad. “Then she, ah, convinced me I didn’t need to be on my meds anymore. That I was better. That I had like, fucking graduated therapy or some shit. I really loved her, and I thought, I thought that love could take the place of medical care, and that’s just  _ fucking impossible. _ But I was convinced.”

Q kicked at his discarded shoes, guiding them towards the corner of the room. “I stopped my meds. I stopped therapy. Shit, I stopped  _ teaching, _ Eliot.” Quentin looked at El, and El wanted to run over and hold him, but he knew it wasn’t the right moment, so he tried to put all of his feelings into his eyes, and he bit his tongue. 

“And then. Then I just completely stopped.” Quentin seemed to close in on himself a bit, and El couldn’t stay sitting any longer. He stood and just reached out an arm, touching Q gently. The smaller man came and rested his head on Eliot’s chest, letting El enfold him in an embrace.

“I was in the hospital for three weeks. First the ER, where they pumped my stomach, then the psych ward.” Q said, slightly muffled against El’s chest. “It was the worst fucking thing that ever happened to me.” Tears started to flow, and Q had to pause for a bit.

El hummed, just holding Q as he gathered himself together enough to continue. “I can’t blame her for all of that.” Q said, “I  _ know _ not to just go off my meds, like, I  _ know _ when I am getting bad, but if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have gotten as bad as I did. She wanted to be my whole world, and I let her. I fucking let her make me small so she could be big. And when that… attempt went down, I like, had the worst reality check.” 

Q pulled back from Eliot slightly. “It was the worst fucking thing, but also the best. Because I got my shit sorted. I got my meds straightened out. Julia was there, she’s my emergency contact and my POA. And a nurse. So she was allowed to see me in the hospital. Poppy wasn’t. I think that is why I was able to like, break her hold on me. Because of that fuckin’ pause.”

“So yeah,” Q continued. “I got my shit together, and ah, when I got out, I made a plan to see Poppy just one more time. I was gonna tell her we were over, like, explain how we weren’t healthy. Julia was going to go with me, even though she thought it was a stupid fucking idea, and then I was going to block her on all social media and just, figure out who I was.”

Quentin sighed, and went to sit on the bed, pulling Eliot with him. “I can pause here,” Q said, “if you want to say anything.”

“Q, you talk until you have it all out there. I can just listen, okay?” El replied, tucking Quentin’s hair back behind his ear. Q nodded.

“Well, I was a fucking idiot.” Q said, bitterness tingeing his voice. “I really thought she didn’t know how bad she was for me, and that, like, I could explain, and we could part ways. But it didn’t go down like that. She started screaming that I was _ hers  _ and that it was all that Julia bitch’s fault that I was like this.” Q plopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “She got violent. And I can’t say it was the first time.” 

El tried to stop himself, but a little growl did come out at this information. He hated the thought of anyone hurting Quentin.

“But” Q added, quickly. “Julia was there. And she called the fucking cops. And like, us getting that on the record really helped with the restraining order.” Q grimaced. “Which I did have to do when she kept showing up at school. And at my apartment. And the coffee house I like to go to…” Q drifted off.

“It was months before I could sleep through the night by myself.” Q admitted. “Julia basically moved in to my bedroom. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know the most basic shit, like, did I prefer coffee or tea? Because Poppy liked coffee so we drank coffee. Poppy liked horror movies, so even though they triggered me, we watched them. Shit like that. It took so goddamn long before I stopped turning to ask her to tell me what to do, what to decide. I’d be at the fucking gas station, and I would just stare at the different colors of gatorade and finally I’d just leave without buying anything because there was no one to tell me which choice was right.” 

“But guess what, Eliot?” Q turned to El, looking fierce. “I like tea, coffee is only for when I’m super fucking tired. I like blue gatorade. Horror movies scare me and that is okay and I don’t have to watch them.” Q clenched and unclenched his fists. “Took fucking ages, but I know me now. I know what I like, who I am, who I love” Q flushed, looking at Eliot and then away. 

The room was filled with a heavy silence.

“So yeah.” Quentin said, finally. “That’s the story of Poppy Kline.”

“I don’t think so, actually” Eliot said, in the pause. “That is the story of you being a fucking wonderful brave and daring and flawed and amazing person. Poppy doesn’t get to claim your story. Not even that part of it”

Q’s eyes filled with tears, and he lunged at his boyfriend, devouring him. Their kiss tastes like salt. And hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need help in any way or ever feel triggered, please reach out. I am NOT trying to glorify suicide in any way, and it ONLY was a good thing because Q recovered!!! Which you can!!! And I can!!! THERE IS HOPE!!!!! I fucking promise there is hope.  
> Suicide prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255


	22. Chapter 22

Six months. Eliot couldn’t believe it. They had been dating for six months. At least, in his mind _. I’ll have to talk to Quentin and see what day he thinks we started dating on,_ El realized. _For me, we were together since the caramel apple date at the fair._ And it had been six fucking months since that Saturday afternoon in autumn. 

The best six months of his life.

But also, he realized with a frown, six months that the world didn’t know about.

It was time for that to change.

Eliot had a _plan._ But he had to get everyone else on board, and he had to talk to Julia, just to double check that it was a _good plan._  

To start with, though, of course, he went to Margo. 

“You’ve had stupider plans.” Bambi said, thoughtfully tapping her chin with a finger. “I don’t think I know enough to be the final say on the topic, but I’ll talk with Fogg and if he’s cool with it, I am. The publicity can’t hurt.”

Julia actually squealed and hugged him when he brought it up. And then babbled something about _true love_ and _soulmates_ that made his heart tense up, but not in a bad way, more of, in a not-quite-yet-but-yeah-maybe way.

The only thing that he needed, then, besides Fogg’s approval, was to find a way to talk to Q about things without cluing him in to the surprise.

He decided this would best take place around dinner, and it just so happened that on Friday night Quentin was going to come over and apparently, in the words of the adorable nerd himself _“rock your socks off with a Quentin-cooked meal that did not set off the fire alarm.”_

Eliot was excited, but he also had taken out a frozen lasagna and put it in the fridge to defrost, just in case. 

\--

Quentin had been practicing this meal on Julia so often that she made him swear that after tonight she would never have to eat gnocchi again.

Laughing, Q agreed to her terms. 

“It’s just gotta be perfect, Jules,” Q said, adding sage to the browned butter sauce. “Everything Eliot makes is so good, and I was reading up on love languages, and I think that El’s is literally blow jobs and making me food.”

Julia snorted, and tea came out of her nose. “That’s very specific,” is all she said, though, as she realized that Quentin was not joking or trying to be funny.

“Yeah,” Q said, seriously. He grabbed the potato dumplings out of the boiling broth and water, setting them to the side to dry out a bit before adding them to the sauce. “So, I want to talk to him in his love language,” he went on. “Hence… dumplings.” Here he gestured at his best friend with a scoop of pasta so emphatically a couple of the said dumplings landed on the floor.

“Blowjobs would be simpler,” Julia pointed out, as Q started swearing and quickly dumped the last of the gnocchi on the paper towel covered plate. 

Quentin flushed, and smiled, “well,” he said, “we have already got that pretty much covered. I wanted something more.”

“As long as this is the last test run, we are good.” Jules said, laughing. “I mean, it is delicious, but we’ve had it like, eight times in a row now.”

“I can’t help that I hyperfixated on potato dumplings!” Quentin exclaimed, adding the pasta to the sauce, “and you’re welcome for the break in eating takeout.” He finished.

“It is a nice change from the Thai place on the corner,” Julia admitted, grabbing down plates as she knew that soon they would be eating. “At least it was the first six times,” she teased. 

“Ninth time is a charm,” Q murmured.

\--

Eliot was running late. The band was learning a new song and they couldn’t get the chorus to sound the way that it should, according to Margo.  

Five hours in, Eliot was pretty sure that it sounded good e-fuckin’-nough. But to say that to Bambi would be the quickest way to lose some part of his anatomy, so he sighed and continued taking from the top.

“It’s Friday,” Kady said, at the beginning of one of their very few five minute breaks.She sounded as grumpy as Eliot felt.  “Harriet and I were supposed to go check out that new restaurant.” 

“Ohhh, the fusion place?” Alice asked, as Margo gave her a shoulder rub that involved a lot more neck kissing than it did actual rubbing of the shoulders. 

 “No,” Kadi said, “it’s the one with everything supersized. That specializes in burgers and brats.”

“Fuck,” Margo said, “you got reservations for Fatti’s Patties?”

Kady laughed, “no, Margs, it isn’t exactly a reservation-type place.”

Eliot was only listening to the conversation with half an ear. Margo had solemnly sworn that he would in fact be home by 7:30, so he was updating his man via text to the situation.

\--

_Bambi is holding me hostage for an extra two hours :( I can’t escape until 7._

_That is the worst! Can I use my key and get dinner started?_

_Ofc, that’s what I was hoping you’d want to do, cuz ya bish is starving._

_My bish will be well fed, i’ll make sure everything is ready by 7:30_

_This is why I love you_

_Hopefully it is only one of the reasons, lol_

_I mean, you also give great head ;)_

_Be still my heart, this man is a true poet_

_Xo_

_xo_

 --

Eventually Margo took pity on them, and decided they could break it off half an hour early. She refused to admit that Kady dangling a gigantic burger as big as her face in front of her had anything to do with it, but the band had their suspicions. So El got home a bit early, and as he was unlocking the doors he heard music and couldn’t help but start to smile. And maybe cringe, just a bit.

\--

Quentin was having a blast. His dumplings were plump, the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off once, and he had Taylor Swift blasting from his phone, so he was singing at the top of his lungs. 

 

_A player’s gonna play play play play play_

_And a hater’s gonna hate hate hate hate hate_

_Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake_

_I shake it off, I shake it off_

 

Of course, Q reasoned, one could not sing about shaking it off without actually doing some shaking, so, since the gnocchi was boiling, he took the time to really get into his dance moves. 

 

_I'm dancing on my own (dancing on my own), I'll make the moves up as I go (moves up as I go)_

_And that's what they don't know mmm mmm, that's what they don't know mmm mmm_

 

Q twirled around the kitchen, grinding against one of the barstools at the counter as if it was a certain curly-headed rocker that he was in love with. 

Then, he _heard a noise._ Turning, trusty spatula in hand, he spied that rocker standing by the door, phone out, most likely recording Q’s every movement, Eliot’s face was bright red as he tried to hold back his laughter.

In two heartbeats Quentin had to decide between going with it, or getting embarrassed. _Fuck it_ , he decided. And the song was just getting to the breakdown, so this was gonna be gold.

Setting the spatula down on the counter, Q started gyrating and getting closer to his man, hopping in time with the beat

 

_My ex-man brought his new girlfriend_

_She's like "oh my God", but I'm just gonna shake it_

_And to the fella over there with the hella good hair_

 

Here Q gestured at his boyfriend with a gigantic grin and a beckoning hand

 

_Won't you come on over, baby, we can shake, shake, shake, yeah_

 

He did a hip thrust on every “shake” and a full hip swirl on the “yeah”, complete with jazz hands.

Finally, Eliot broke. He started laughing, his entire body moving behind the sound. 

Quentin smiled, feeling completely happy, until a timer went off. 

“Fuck!” Q shouted. “My gnocchi!”

\--

Eliot had to put down his phone at this, and laughing, he shrugged off his coat and followed Quentin over towards the stove.

“We’re eating gnocchi?” Eliot asked, resting his head in the crook of Quentin’s neck and slightly tugging at the bun Q had his hair pulled back in with one hand, as the other curved around his belly.

Q gasped at the sensation, but then smiled. “Yes,” he said. “As long as you stop with the wandering hands and let me concentrate.”

“You’re making me food in your underwear,” Eliot pointed out, trying to be reasonable. “I think it is completely fair that my hands want to get with the wandering.”

“Your hands can get with the setting of the table,” Quentin said, laughing. “Distractions make for a burnt butter sauce, instead of a browned one.”

“As you wish,” Eliot replied, letting go of his boyfriend to cross the kitchen towards the silverware drawer. He had a handful in his grip when he paused. “Question.” El said, “why exactly are you making food in nothing but your boxers?”

Quentin’s expression had grown serious as he was finishing up his dish. “Because I’m gonna be wearing nice clothes at dinner, and I didn’t want to get them covered with flour,” he said, and then flashed a grin at Eliot. “And hey, I’m not just wearing boxers, I also have on this lovely apron.”

Turning the heat down, Q swiveled around to model Eliot’s ‘kiss the cook’ apron, and Eliot could handle the cuteness no longer. He dropped the silverware onto the counter and crossed the room in three quick steps, and pulled Quentin in for a lingering kiss.

“What was that for?” Q asked breathlessly, when he pulled back for air.

Eliot gestured to the apron. “Just following instructions,” he said, and with a wink, went back on about his way, setting the table.

\--

Later that night, after Eliot had praised Quentin's cooking skills with words, and then with his mouth, and then with his.... you get the idea, El got a text. 

"That better be Margo or the president of the united states," Quentin grumbled, from where he was comfortably entwined with his lover's body. 

"It is one of those," El replied, opening his phone and grinning. "The more important of the two," he added, tying out a quick reply.

"Tell Margo I said hi," Q said, around a yawn. "And then please shut off your ringer. I want snuggles." 

"Will do," Eliot said, looking down at the way that he was entangled with his man and loving it. Also loving the fact that Margo had let him know that Fogg had given his plan the go-ahead. He shut off the ringer and tossed the phone at the pile of their clothes that had been hastily removed upon entering his bedroom. It landed with a soft thunk and El wrapped Q up in a full body hug that they had perfected over the six months they were together. 

 _Oh,_ Eliot thought, _that's right_. 

"Q?" He asked, "when exactly did we become a couple?" 

"The caramel apple date," Q mumbled, "I think." 

 _Perfect,_ El thought, _then he still had one week before their anniversary to finish up his plans._

Then Quentin lifted his head, gave Eliot _the look_ and started kissing and licking along Eliot's chest, and El stopped thinking completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'twas my birthday last night, and i decided to do a reverse gift, where i give y'all something. hope you like it! i promise i'm not abandoning the fic, it's just been a fuck of a year for me.

**Author's Note:**

> More will be coming soon!! Please comment and let me know if you like it!


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